


And Sweetest in the Gale is Heard

by Lusern



Series: Strangest Sea [1]
Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Reunion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-04 01:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusern/pseuds/Lusern
Summary: Nezumi waited too long.The smirk vanished from Inukashi’s face.“Shion? Shion is gone, Nezumi.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing.

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep._

_–_ Robert Frost, _Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening_

 

* * *

 

 

Nezumi had spent so long wandering. He knew he had needed to do it; he knew he needed to loosen the bind that revenge and hatred still held on his heart. And with every step away from that place—where the memories of blood and pain and death could not, he thought, ever truly be separated from whatever stood there now—he could feel that hold weaken, as he pounded his memories into the dirt. His legs ached from miles of daily walking and the rest of him ached from sleeping on hard ground, but his heart felt lighter than it ever had before. He was traveling, not towards a physical destination, but towards a mental one, or maybe spiritual. He was going to break off the shackles of his past and be free. 

There was only one problem. There was one piece of his history he found difficult to shake off entirely. Something he had never managed to fully grasp; someone he had walked away from. And sometimes, in his weakest moments, he found himself wondering what it really was he was trying to let go.

It was not a train of thought he let himself indulge in much.

 

* * *

 

“You’re a fool.”

Nezumi had bartered an afternoon’s worth of labor for a place to sleep and some hot food from this grey-haired but remarkably fit woman and her partner, who looked about a decade younger and maintained a stony silence in Nezumi’s presence. The two of them had chosen to live the rest of their days in a small cabin they had built themselves out in the middle of nowhere. Nezumi told them a very carefully edited version of his own history as they ate a simple dinner by the light and warmth of the stone fireplace, and at the end of it the older woman laughed smugly at him.

Nezumi did not appreciate this much. “Does prioritizing my own survival make me a fool?”

The older woman laughed harder, while the younger one shook her head. “No, it does not.”

“Then how am I being foolish?” 

The two woman glanced at each other, each wearing a small smile, the outward sign of some private joke. “Your instinct for self-preservation is certainly valuable. Surviving everything you have is no mean feat. But I have a question for you, child. What are you living _for_?”

Nezumi had an answer to that. “Myself.”

"And that is enough, for you?” The woman leaned toward him, her eyes locked onto his.

He crossed his arms and stared back in silence.

“You have no purpose,” she declared. “You may as well be dead.”

That had been nearly four years ago, and Nezumi hadn’t thought about the woman’s words much since then. He had heard too many lectures and prophecies and warnings from the various eccentrics he had encountered on his travels to take any of them seriously. Nezumi didn’t have any reason to regret severing the ties to his past. He had his freedom. That was enough.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

Something began to ache inside him. It was the sort of ache Nezumi recognized, a dull but insidious hunger that came from the prolonged absence of something necessary. It was easy to ignore as long as he was moving, but when he let himself rest for too long it would return, like a persistent humming in the back of his head.

The woman’s words began to haunt him. Slowly, he began to wonder if they were true. Did he really want to wander forever? Was he determined to be alone until he died? He had finally managed to put his past behind him, but what did that leave for his future?

He had emptied his heart of everything he associated with No. 6. Maybe, then, this emptiness shouldn’t have taken him by surprise.

_You had something else in your heart once._

It had been nearly ten years. It was time to return to that place, to find out what was waiting for him there.

The eastern sky was clear and bright. The rising sun was too intense to look at directly, but its light was warm and full of life and hope. Nezumi found himself drawn toward it, step by step.

He had a promise to keep.

 

* * *

 

The city itself looked much the same, except the walls had disappeared. The West Block was unrecognizable. The parts that had been levelled during the Hunt were now farmland, and the neighborhoods that remained appeared to have been completely renovated. There were signs that new, functional infrastructure was in place: paved roads, clear sidewalks, schools, and medical clinics. It was a very strange sensation to walk down these streets again without feeling it necessary to keep his hand on his knife.

An artificial river had been built connecting the West Block to No. 6’s system of freshwater aqueducts, running right through the underground vault that had been Nezumi’s home for so long. Nezumi didn’t know what to make of it. There had been no need to destroy it. It was as if someone had tried to wash the memories away.

A vast field of wildflowers blanketed the land where the Correctional Facility had once stood. There was one patch of earth which seemed to be too scorched for anything to grow there, and in the center of it was an austere black slab which stood in ugly contrast with its surroundings. As Nezumi approached he realized it was a monument. An description of the atrocities which had taken place there was etched into its face in stark white font.

“In our seeking of a more just future, we must never forget the evil that was done here,” Nezumi read, running his fingers over the words.

The things he had witnessed in that place had never stopped haunting his dreams. But this memorial seemed to be a respectful way of honoring the dead. No erasure or editing of history. Just remembrance.

Nezumi found himself singing a quiet, mournful melody as the brisk wind whipped his hair around his face. When the song ended he looked down to see a spotted mutt at his side, nuzzling its nose into his hand. It wanted to lead him somewhere, and Nezumi had an idea of who it would take him to.

Inukashi and his hotel both looked cleaner and healthier, but aside from growing a few inches, Inukashi looked nearly unchanged. He whistled when he saw Nezumi approaching.

“You’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence, I see.”

“Your dog was the one who led me here."

“I had to see it for myself.” Inukashi’s face broke into a grin. “A lot of things have changed since you left. It’s almost like things got better _because_ you were gone.”

“Glad to hear it,” Nezumi deadpanned. “Are you still charging for information?”

Inukashi shrugged. “Depends on what it is. There’s not so many secrets anymore. It’s good for the city but bad for my business.”

“Can you tell me where Shion is?”

The smirk vanished from Inukashi’s face.

“Shion? Shion is _gone_ , Nezumi.”

Nezumi felt as though the ground had turned to liquid beneath his feet.

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“He just disappeared, two years ago. Not even my dogs could pick up his scent.”

“What happened to him?”

Inukashi frowned. “I wish I could charge you for the information, but I don’t know.”

“Can you at least tell me where to find his mother, then?”

“She hasn’t moved. She’s still running her bakery.”

“Well, thanks, then,” Nezumi said turning to leave.

Inukashi shouted something rude at him, but Nezumi didn’t stick around long enough to hear it. 

Shion was gone, and even Inukashi didn’t know what had happened. The possibilities spun nauseating circles in his mind as he trekked up the hill to Karan’s bakery. Nezumi was sure Inukashi would have known if Shion had left by choice, or if he had simply gotten sick and died. Was it possible that he had made dangerous enemies in his work rebuilding the city? Did someone want vengeance for the destruction of the old No. 6? But if Shion had been murdered, surely his body would have been found by now, and Inukashi would have known that, too.

 _He just disappeared._ But people weren’t supposed to disappear from No. 6 anymore. Surely that had been part of the goal Shion was working towards? Nezumi couldn’t make sense of it.

Karan pulled Nezumi into a tight embrace as soon as he crossed the threshold of the bakery. There were more wrinkles on her face, but she was as kind and flour-dusted as he remembered her. She hung the closed sign on the front door and pulled him into the kitchen.

“Nezumi, you should know…”

“Inukashi told me that Shion disappeared,” Nezumi said, silently begging her to contradict him.

Karan’s face fell. “He’s still alive. He left nearly two years ago, after the City Council elections.”

Nezumi allowed himself a small sigh of relief. “What happened?”

Karan said she didn’t exactly know, but then ran up to Shion’s room to go get something. She returned with a handwritten letter which she place in Nezumi’s hand. “He said he wanted you to read it,” she explained.

 

 _Nezumi,_  

_To be honest, I hope you never read this. I would rather say it all in person, but that seems more and more unlikely with each passing day._

_I wanted you to see all the work we’ve done here. We tried to do it right this time, with a democratic system and a more balanced distribution of power. We did our best not to erase the errors of the past, but to learn from them. There was so much damage done, so much to fix, and there were days when I wondered whether it was possible. But I had made a promise to Safu, and to you. I wanted to show you what I had helped build._

_Nezumi, I made you a promise I was never going to be able to keep. You asked me to stay who I was. And I tried. I fought hard not to let power get to my head, but it was so difficult to remain grounded. I struggled to keep my faith in those around me. I became cynical. It became harder and harder to hold onto hope. You so often ridiculed me for being so naïve, but I think on some unspoken level you valued it. As the years passed, and the work changed and became more political and difficult, I lost myself._

_I could keep moving forward, knowing that I was working for a better future for the people of this city, and believing that one day I would see you again. I could understand why you left this place, and even why you left me behind_ — _but Nezumi, I needed you to come back to me. And you never did._

_Eventually I realized that it wasn’t fair to expect you to keep a promise you made when you were sixteen. I think I always knew that you had closed yourself off, and that I would never know you as well as I wished to. You talked about caring for others as a weakness, and back then I couldn’t understand that. I do now._

_I loved you, Nezumi. And you broke my heart. With every year that passed, it became more difficult to believe that I would see you again one day. Maybe you had died, or maybe you simply weren’t drawn to me the way I was to you. I needed to stop hoping I would see you again someday. I couldn’t let myself waste away waiting. And to be honest, if you were to return, I wouldn’t want you to see the person I’ve become._

_This city no longer needs me. I am confident that we have built a system which will not decay as the last one did. So I’m leaving. I want to figure out who I really am, and I can’t do that here. There are too many memories._

_I’m sorry._

_–Shion_

 

Nezumi read the letter in cold silence. He should have anticipated this. He hadn’t necessarily been expecting Shion to welcome him home with open arms—but he had been expecting Shion to be waiting for him.

“Bastard,” he whispered, as one treacherous tear rolled down his cheek.

Karan just smiled sadly. “I could tell he was struggling. He smiled less and less, and I almost never heard him laugh after a while. He pushed himself too hard.”

“Did he tell you why he left?”

She shook her head. “He came home one day and told me he had quit his job. ‘Mom, I’m leaving.’ That’s all he said.”

“I’m sorry,” Nezumi said. “I waited too long.”

Karan shook her head again, more sternly this time. “It’s not your fault.”

 _Yes it is_ , he thought, clenching the damning letter in his hand. _She should be mad at me. I drove her son away_. And yet she was just standing there, her expression open and warm.

He sighed, and then laughed a little at himself. “Do you know where he went?”

She hesitated. “I know he’s been near another city, because I get messages from him every few weeks. But I don’t know which one.”

“Well, there are only five others. It shouldn’t be too difficult to sniff out a young person with white hair and such a distinctive scar.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re going to look for him?”

He met her gaze. “I am.”

Nezumi found himself squeezed into a very tight and slightly teary hug. “Please bring him back,” she whispered.

“I’ll do my best.”

 

He had learned by now not to make promises he wasn’t certain he could keep.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_You could not step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you._

-Heraclitus

 

* * *

 

Nezumi combed the streets of No. 1, but found no one there who recognized Shion’s name or description. Nezumi had a single picture, courtesy of Shion’s mother—a formal portrait, taken at the five-year anniversary of whatever committee it was he had been on. In it Shion looked a little taller and a little paler than Nezumi remembered, his hair cut short and neat and a vague dullness in his eyes. His smile looked real, although, Nezumi realized with a small pang, he might not be able to tell anymore. Shion might have gotten better at acting.

He had slightly better luck in No. 4. A shrewd-eyed young fruit seller in the bazaar recognized the man in the photo, although she refused to tell Nezumi anything more without payment. Nezumi tossed her a shining coin and she examined it with skepticism before turning to a younger, dark-haired boy who may have been her brother.

“Remember him?” she said, pointing at the photo.

The boy took one look at it and scowled. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The girl laughed. “The little brat tried to pickpocket him,” she told Nezumi. “He got the better of you, didn’t he, Jan?”

“He looked like an easy mark, okay?”

“What’ve I told you about nickin’ things from tourists?”

“You don’t complain when I bring back extra money, though, do you?”

Nezumi wasn’t particularly interested in listening to their bickering. “When did this happen?”

The girl shrugged. “Winter before last, maybe?”

“Have you seen him around since then?”

The girl shook her head. “I’d’ve noticed for sure. No one ‘round here looks anything like that.”

Another dead end, then. Nezumi turned to leave, but the girl grabbed his arm.

“For another coin I’ll tell you where he went,” she said.

She scrutinized the second coin as closely as she had the first.

“Well?” Nezumi said, impatient.

The girl smirked with satisfaction. “When Jan here tried to pick him, this guy gave him his sweater instead. Said he didn’t need it ‘cuz he was heading south.”

South. All of the other city-states were south of No. 4. Still, the information was better than nothing.

“He was a weirdo,” Jan said.

“Oh?”

“Normal people get mad when they realize someone’s stolen from ‘em. But he asked me a ton of questions instead. ‘Are you cold? Do you have enough to eat?’  It was like he was an old granny, or something.”

 _That sounds about right,_ Nezumi thought, smiling to himself as he walked out of the bazaar into the brisk spring sunshine of No. 1. Shion had definitely been here, and he had left. It was time to move on.

* * *

The driver of the light rail train that shuttled back and forth from the airport to the city center of No. 5 was bored and chatty, and peered at the photo Nezumi showed with interest.

“Oh, him? He teaches at my son’s school, I think.”

The school personnel listings were public record, and Nezumi scrolled through the listing until his eyes lit upon a familiar face. From there it was not difficult to find his address: a small second-floor apartment overlooking a park near the school. Nezumi stood outside it, his heart racing and hands shoved in pockets—a teenage habit he still struggled to break—trying to imagine the life that went on inside.

What was he going to do now? Knock on the front door? Wait until Shion opened the window and then appear on his balcony?

“You look lost,” a wry voice said from behind him. An impossibly familiar voice, if slightly deeper than he remembered it.

Nezumi glanced over his shoulder. Something white was shining in the sun, just out of the corner of his eye…

“I’m not lost,” he said, sweeping his arm to the side into a broad, theatrical shrug. “Actually, I think I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for.”

“And what is that?”

Nezumi turned around fully to face Shion, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides. “Do you really need me to answer that?”

He placed his fingers under Shion’s chin to tilt his face upward, just as he had when they had parted ways a decade previous. His heart ached with something he didn’t have a name for. Shion was here, white hair and snakelike scar exactly as he remembered, but now full-grown and alluring in an entirely new way…

Shion pushed his arm away, gently, like Nezumi was a small child invading his personal space. “I suppose you really are here to see me,” he said, his eyes shining with amusement.

 _Amusement?_ They hadn’t seen each other in a decade, and Shion found it _entertaining?_

“Let’s go up to my apartment,” Shion said, in response to Nezumi’s blank silence. “My baking isn’t as good as my mother’s, but I made some croissants the other day that turned out well.”

“Lead the way, my prince.”

Shion wrinkled his nose. “I was never fond of that particular endearment.”

The studio apartment was small and neat, with little beyond some practical furniture and a large bookshelf. It did have wide, sun-filled windows which faced the park and a tiny balcony which faced the blank brick wall of the opposite building. The only thing in the way of decoration was a small pallet of various leafy plants and mottled succulents kept under a fluorescent lamp by the window.

Shion dropped a pile of tests on the desk, turned on an electric kettle, and then began piling pastries on a plate. Nezumi sat at the kitchen table and watched him in silence, wondering at the man in front of him who looked so familiar but felt very different than the boy he remembered.

“You’ve become so domestic,” Nezumi observed, as Shion handed him a steaming mug and placed the croissants on the table before him.

“I was always like that.” He sat down opposite Nezumi, hands wrapped around his own mug.

“I’m glad I found you.” Nezumi wondered why he was letting himself fall into his old adolescent patterns. “Your mother was worried.”

Shion frowned. “I do miss her. But she knows I’m okay,” he said.

“It’s a rather cruel thing to do to someone who cares about you so much, to just disappear like that.”

“Yes, it is cruel,” Shion said, with a subtle but biting edge Nezumi had never heard in his voice before. He understood it to be directed at himself. “That’s why I stay in contact with her.”

“Then why did she tell me she didn’t know where you were?”

Shion hesitated. “Probably because I asked her to,” he admitted.

“What?” Nezumi could feel heat rising in his chest. “Why, Shion?”

Shion looked down at his hands, his brows knitted together. “Because I wasn’t sure I wanted to see you again.”

Nezumi stared at the young man sitting across from him who was evidently Shion in appearance only. What had happened to the bright-eyed, trusting boy who had followed him around like a puppy? Who seemed to have an endless supply of faith in others and hope for the future? Who made awkward almost-declarations of love and kissed like falling snow?

Shion raised his head, his still kind features twisted by something that may have been pain. “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

“I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

“I’m sorry,” Shion said, quietly. “I was in a bad place when I left.”

Nezumi remembered the letter, the one which had torn at his heart, still folded into an inside pocket of his jacket. Its language had been that of someone broken.

_What happened to you?_

“Do you remember what happened the last time I lied to you?” Shion asked, glancing sideways at Nezumi.

Nezumi crossed his arms, the memory still very vivid in his mind. “I’m not going to hit you,” he said, fighting a smile.

The corner of Shion’s mouth curled upward. “It seems like you have grown up, after all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that adults don’t express their feelings with fists,” Shion said, simply. “They can communicate them with words instead.”

Nezumi felt something in his stomach twist. “Is that what you want to do, Shion?” he asked, his voice low and earnest—which he hadn’t expected of himself.

Shion stared at him for a while, his eyes distant and expression blank. Then his smile returned, albeit a little sheepishly. “Not right now,” he said. “Why don’t we have dinner first?”

Shion wouldn’t let Nezumi help cook. “It’s just beans and rice,” he said, “Once you dump everything into the pot you just leave it alone for a while.” He apologized for the lack of meat in the meal, too. “After everything that happened… I just couldn’t bring myself to eat it anymore.”

They chatted amicably until the food was ready, Nezumi telling stories about his travels and Shion talking about his life in No. 5.

“I think teaching suits you,” Nezumi said. “Remember when you would invite all the neighborhood children over to read stories to them?”

Shion smiled at the memory. “I didn’t think you liked it when I did that,” he said, “But you never made me stop, did you?”

Nezumi opened his mouth to respond and no words came out. There was knowing laughter in Shion’s eyes. Nezumi had come here promising himself he would be open and honest with Shion, but Shion had already seen right through him. He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“That depends on what it is,” Nezumi replied. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“You had read all those books. But you never went to school, did you?”

Nezumi shook his head, slowly.

“How did you learn how to read?”

“Gran taught me. She said it was required for survival.” He helped himself to more food. “But I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“Okay,” Shion said, simply.

Their conversation lapsed into silence. They had once been so comfortable around each other, had shared so many meals like this, but now Nezumi felt vaguely unsettled. Shion seemed unfazed by Nezumi’s presence, but Nezumi felt out-of-place here. He hadn’t exactly been expecting Shion to welcome him with open arms; he knew from the letter that Shion’s feelings for him were unlikely to be entirely positive. But he hadn’t been expecting near indifference.

But had Shion really changed that much? He was still soft and calm; and when he had been talking about the children he taught, his whole face had lit up like it used to when he was happy and excited about something. The old Shion he knew was still there, it seemed—only hidden most of the time.

Nezumi insisted that Shion let him help clean up dinner. He playfully nudged his elbow into Shion’s side as they washed dishes, out of some old habit the origin of which he wasn’t sure he remembered. He half expected Shion to look up at him with that perfectly open, wide-eyed look of surprise that Nezumi had come to find endearing and even a little seductive; but Shion barely responded to Nezumi’s jab. He just shifted away, smirking slightly.

“Shion,” Nezumi said.

Shion’s eyes met his.

“I’m really happy to see you again.”

Why was his face closing off like that? Shion’s mouth was tilted into a smile but the light in his eyes had disappeared. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he said. “I was about to make more tea. Do you want any?"

They settled on the couch, a solid of foot of space between them. Nezumi pulled the letter out of his jacket and tossed it onto the old trunk that served as a coffee table. Shion leaned forward to see what it was.

“Dramatic as ever, apparently,” he said, one eyebrow raised. “Is this what you want to talk about?”

“It’s a start.”

Shion sighed and hung his head, his elbows propped on his knees and his white hair falling around his face, hiding it from view.

“I thought that I had lost you, Nezumi. I had accepted that you either died or never intended to return. When I was working on the Restructural Committee, there were days when the only thing that kept me moving forward was the belief that I would be able to show you the outcome of all our hard work. And then one day I didn’t believe it anymore.”

Shion sat up again, although he still wasn’t looking at Nezumi. “You thought of me as a weakness", he said, quietly. "At first, I thought that you left because you were trying to free yourself from No. 6. But that also meant letting go of me.”

Nezumi felt his stomach twist. How was it that Shion had understood him so completely, when Shion was still such a mystery to him?

“I was a fool,” Nezumi said.

Shion shook his head. “You were a child. You had suffered so much in that place. You needed to leave. And I needed to stay.” He turned toward Nezumi, smiling sadly. “You were right. Our natures are incompatible.”

Nezumi didn’t like the way his words were being thrown back at him. “I was old enough to be responsible for myself.”

“But were you ready to be responsible for someone else? You tried so hard to guard your own heart. I’m not sure you considered what you were doing to mine.”

Shion might as well have stabbed him.

“I’m sorry,” Nezumi said, softly. “I never intended to cause you pain.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Shion said. He sighed, and seemed to shake himself a little. “It wasn’t fair of me to place the responsibility for all of my happiness on another person like that. I needed to learn how to rely on myself.”

Nezumi looked around at the cozy apartment. “You do seem to be doing well here.”

“I was afraid you would be disappointed in me,” Shion admitted.

“Why?”

“Because I abandoned my work in No. 6. And because I’ve changed so much.”

“No. 6 is thriving because of the work you did,” Nezumi protested.

Shion smiled into his tea and didn’t say anything. Nezumi didn’t have a good rebuttal for Shion’s other concern, and he could tell that Shion had noticed.

Nezumi was so frustrated by this. He had come here for a reason, and he needed to spit it out.

“Shion—”

Shion stood up. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go to bed soon. I still have work in the morning.”

“Oh… okay.”

“You’re welcome to stay here, if you want. The couch pulls out into another bed.”

Nezumi accepted the invitation, grateful that Shion wasn’t pushing him away yet. There was still so much he wanted to talk about, but it was clear that it would have to wait.

The pull-out bed was comfortable but Nezumi still had a hard time falling asleep. Regret was twisting in his abdomen and confused thoughts spun circles in his mind, refusing to settle down.

Apparently Shion was having the same problem. Nezumi heard the sliding glass door open and close a little after midnight and lifted his head just enough to peek over the arm of the couch. Shion was leaning against the balcony railing and gazing up at the night sky. Even from this distance, Nezumi could see tears shining in the moonlight.

He wanted to go to Shion and wipe them away. He wanted to close the distance between them again. Shion used to be open and unguarded to a fault. What had happened?

 _You left,_ he reminded himself. _And you stayed away too long._ He rolled over, his mind awake with a new set of thoughts and worries. He knew he had hurt Shion by leaving, but was his presence here now still causing him pain?

He tossed and turned until exhaustion finally managed to shut down his unsettled mind. He still hadn’t heard Shion come back inside by the time he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Nezumi awoke in the morning to a gentle hand shaking his shoulder.

“Nezumi,” Shion’s voice said. “I have to go to work.”

Nezumi sat up, wide awake. Without thinking, he reached upward to run his fingers through Shion’s hair, but Shion stood up and moved away too quickly, leaving Nezumi with his hand hanging stupidly in the air.

The corner of Shion’s mouth twitched upward, like he had seen Nezumi’s intention and purposefully averted it. “You can help yourself to whatever food you want. The spare key is on the counter, in case you want to leave and come back. I’ll be at school until four thirty or so.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and then paused, his hand on the doorknob. He turned to look at Nezumi, a vague smile on his face.

“Nezumi?”

“Hm?”

“Will you be here when I get back?”

“Of course.”

“That’s enough, then,” he said, quietly, before walking out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

_…Remember thee!_

_Yea, from the table of my memory_

_I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records,_

_All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past_

_That youth and observation copied there…_

-William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_ , Act I

 

* * *

 

Shion hadn’t been surprised to see the familiar dark-haired form standing outside of his apartment. When his mother told him Nezumi had returned to No. 6, Shion knew it would only be a matter of time before he was found.

He had thought about hiding, but only briefly. He enjoyed his job as a teacher; he didn’t want to abandon his students. And when he was honest with himself, he wanted to see Nezumi again, even if he was afraid of what it would stir up in him. He had come to No. 5 to prove to himself that he could survive on his own. _My world means nothing without you_ , he had said, back then. He had sought out a new meaning for himself.

And now Nezumi had returned, looking barely different than he had ten years ago. His clothes were new and sleek and his hair was tied into a long braid, but he was still lithe and androgynous and haughty, gray eyes as full of still water and fierce storm as when they had first met. Nezumi fixed those piercing eyes on Shion’s and placed slender but strong fingers under his chin, a reenactment of their parting over a decade ago.

It had been easy to brush Nezumi away. Shion had been afraid he would succumb to it; but after all that time spent doing government work, he could recognize a power play when he saw it. Nezumi didn’t have the same heady influence over him anymore, and Shion found it to be a relief. They would be able to approach each other more like equals.

It surprised him, actually, how comfortable it felt to have Nezumi around again. The separation made it possible for him to see Nezumi with less infatuation and more objectivity. Shion could make sense of why Nezumi had chosen to keep away from No. 6. He had forgiven Nezumi a long time ago, and even managed to let go of him in his heart.

And now Nezumi was here, sitting at his kitchen table, eating beans and rice and telling stories about knife-fights with rogues in his usual theatrical manner, while the only stories Shion could tell were about the antics of schoolchildren. He avoided bringing up the Restructural Committee: he didn’t want to be reprimanded for abandoning that work. He had had a good reason for leaving, he reminded himself. Exhaustion had worked its insidious way into his bones, and he had kept pushing himself until he had burned up completely. Once the new City Council had stabilized and the Restructural Committee was dissolved into the new government agencies, he had decided he wasn’t needed anymore. Of course, if he heard of something going awry, he would return without hesitation; but it had been nearly two years, and so far nothing had caused him alarm. According to the reports from his mother, No. 6 had landed squarely on its feet.

Nezumi jabbed him with his elbow while they cleaned up dinner, knocking down another set of old memories in Shion’s mind, of being teased and mocked and even kicked out of bed, if unconsciously. The action might have gotten a rise or a reprimand from his sixteen-year-old self; but he knew better now, and just edged out of the way, although he couldn’t contain the small smile that crept onto his face.

Nezumi’s actions used to confuse him: he oscillated between tender and harsh with a dizzying frequency. It had allowed Nezumi to disarm his younger self with ease; but Shion wasn’t vulnerable to it anymore.

Shion wished Nezumi hadn’t seen the letter. He felt so differently now than he had when he had left No. 6. But it also reminded him of how much damage had been done; it was stirring up memories that almost made him angry. And that wasn’t fair. He didn’t really have a right to be mad at Nezumi. Nezumi had only managed to survive as long as he had by focusing on himself. He had suffered far too much at too young an age. And he _had_ fulfilled his promise. The words Shion had written were intended to sting, and he regretted it. So why were the things he was saying now still tinged with bitterness? Why was he letting a bite creep into his voice? He knew better than to let those old feelings control him. He finally had Nezumi back, and even if things couldn’t be the same between them, he didn’t want to push him away.

“Shion—”

The way Nezumi said his name scared him. It was too earnest. So he cut him off instead, claiming he needed to go to bed. It wasn’t a lie—they had already stayed up nearly an hour later than Shion was used to—but it felt cowardly, and Shion hated himself for it.

He couldn’t fall asleep, though. He could tell that Nezumi was restless, too, but eventually the other man settled into stillness. Shion wasn’t as fortunate. There was too much regret and memory spinning around in his head. As silently as possible, he slipped out onto the little balcony, sliding the door shut beside him.

 _You told yourself you weren’t going to do this,_ he thought, as tears streamed down his face. At least Nezumi wasn’t seeing him. _Only fight and cry for yourself._ Nezumi had said that to him, all those years ago.

_Who am I crying for now, Nezumi?_

He still cared for Nezumi. Shion could admit that. What was harder to admit was that he still harbored deeper feelings for him, too, feelings he had worked hard to suppress and shut away. But he still had to accept that Nezumi would never stay with him. Whatever was happening now was temporary, and if he let himself get attached again, he would just end up hurt like before.

So why did it still feel like his heart was being pulled apart? He thought he had been prepared for this, but maybe he had been wrong. Maybe his old feelings for Nezumi were stronger than he had realized.

_Or maybe you’re just weaker than you thought you were._

Shion wiped the tears off his face. He had survived much worse. This wasn’t going to break him. He would treasure this time he had with Nezumi before he disappeared again, but he wasn’t going to let him back into his heart. _You can’t afford it,_  he reminded himself, smiling at the bitter moonlight.

* * *

 Nezumi was still there when he woke up, to Shion’s relief. He had half been expecting him to disappear again. But instead he seemed to be sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by Shion’s movement around the apartment as he made himself breakfast and prepared for school.

Shion hesitated before nudging Nezumi awake. He should have just let him sleep, and left a note on the counter. But he wanted to touch Nezumi, to make sure he was really there. He noticed Nezumi’s hand moving toward him, and dodged it before he could get too close. Shion couldn’t afford that; he was already running late.

School that day was a normal Friday. His students were restless for the weekend, and by the last period of the day even the most diligent had lapsed into general distraction. He decided not to fight it. They had had a test the day before, and he figured they could have something of a break, so he let them work on their semester projects in groups while he graded the exams he had intended to finish the previous night.

Their weekly science faculty meeting was in the afternoon, and Shion found himself struggling to stay awake, let alone focused, as the other teachers discussed the new curriculum they were experimenting with. It was normally a subject he found important and interesting, and his uncharacteristic silence was noticed. The other teacher who taught the ninth year science classes, a cheerful red-haired woman only a little older than Shion, asked him about it as they walked out of the school building.

“I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” he told her.

“Did something happen?”

“Sort of. I had an unexpected visitor.”

Anna looked at him curiously. “Someone from No. 6?”

He almost laughed. “No. Not from the city. It’s sort of difficult to explain.”

“An old friend?” she guessed.

“Something like that.”

They had reached the corner of the park near Shion’s apartment. Anna lived on the next street, so they often walked this far together.

“I know you still don’t have a lot of friends in this city yet,” Anna said, “So if you want to talk about something, I’m happy to listen.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“I hope you get more sleep this weekend. Were you paying attention when they announced the classroom observation schedule for next week?”

“No,” he admitted, running his hand through his hair.

“I’ll make sure to forward you the email,” she said. “Take care, Shion.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Shion let himself into the apartment to find Nezumi out on the balcony, draped lazily over the railing. His form was elegant and beautiful, like a classical sculpture from one of No. 5’s famous art museums.

_Stop thinking like that._

“You’re back,” Nezumi said.

“So are you,” Shion replied, smiling. “Did you manage to amuse yourself while I was gone?”

“I walked around a bit. I’ve been to this city before, but I’d never seen this part of town.”

“What do you think of it?”

“It’s nice. There isn’t much to do.”

“It’s not very exciting,” Shion admitted, “But the people are kind.”

“Speaking of which,” Nezumi said, “Who was that woman you were with? The red-haired one?”

“Oh, Anna? We work together. She teaches science, too.”

“She seems friendly.”

“She is. When I first started working at that school, she helped me out a lot.”

Nezumi’s voice became low and almost serious. “Shion. Did you ever figure out women?”

Shion forced himself not to laugh. The only person Shion had ever been interested in was standing right in front of him. He had always assumed that Nezumi understood that.

“I don’t think women and men are very different,” he said. “They’re all just people.”

“Shion…” Nezumi shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“Do you still know nothing about sex, after all this time?”

Shion didn’t appreciate that. He struggled to find an answer that didn’t sound bitter. _If you’ve only come here to mock me, you can leave. You have no right to my private life. The only person I ever wanted left me behind._

Shion decided to ignore him. “I need to go get things for dinner. Do you want to come with me?”

Nezumi shrugged and followed him.

They left the small grocery store around the corner a short while later with a large brown bag filled with vegetables and the ingredients for pasta.

“We’re making a small detour,” Shion explained, as they turned down a small side street.

“Why?”

Shion, feeling a little mischievous and not at all guilty about it, chose not to answer.

They walked into a small bakery, with walls lined floor to ceiling with bread and pastries. A bearded man walked out form the back room, covered in flour and grinning from ear to ear.

“Shion! Perfect timing! I’ve got a fresh batch of blueberry pies that need a taste tester.”

“Blueberries are in season right now, aren’t they? That sounds great.” Shion turned to Nezumi. “Nick is the only person I’ve ever met whose baking could rival my mother’s.”

“High praise,” said Nezumi.

“How am I supposed to compete with Mama’s home cooking, eh?” Nick quipped, winking at Nezumi. “So, Shion, who is this handsome lad you’ve got with you today?”

Shion grinned. He was too used to this type of banter from Nick for it to make him blush. “An old friend. This is Nezumi.” _An old friend_. That was what he had decided to call Nezumi. It was close enough to the truth. They had never put a name to whatever it was their relationship had been, after all.

Nick reached his hand over the counter to shake Nezumi’s hand vigorously and make loud declarations about any friend of Shion’s being a friend of his. Shion resisted the urge to laugh at Nezumi’s slightly bewildered expression.

Anna came down the back staircase, carrying a drowsy toddler with hair the exact same vibrant shade of red as her own. She set the child down and he immediately waddled over to Nick and demanded to be picked up again.

“There’s my boy!” Nick cried, hoisting him up onto his shoulders. The child giggled madly as his father bounced him up and down.

“Is this the unexpected visitor you mentioned, Shion?” Anna asked, her green eyes flashing.

Shion nodded. “This is Nezumi. He’s my… ah…” Lying to Anna was harder than lying to Nick. “He’s an old friend.”

Nezumi bowed his head slightly. “Nice to meet you,” he said, looking a little sheepish. Shion found that very satisfying, for some reason.

“And this is our little troublemaker, Matty,” Nick said. Matty waved a small hand at the mention of his name.

“How are you, Matty?” Shion asked. He enjoyed seeing the little boy. Matty had just started talking, and reminded him of Shionn at that age.

Matty reached his arms out toward Shion. Nick pulled him off his shoulders and soon as his bare feet touched the ground he ran to Shion, wrapping small arms around his leg. Shion bent down so that he could speak to Matty face-to-face. “Matty, this is Nezumi. Can you say hello to Nezumi?”

Matty peered up at Nezumi, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Nezumi,” he said, pointing at Nezumi, who, for the briefest moment, looked as soft as Shion had ever seen him.

“Hey, kiddo,” Nezumi said, still smiling but all softness gone.

Matty just stared at him in wide-eyed silence. Anna chastised him. “Say ‘hello,’ sweetie.”

Matty opened and closed a sticky fist in what Shion understood to be a shy wave. Nezumi waved back, looking mildly amused.

“That might be all you get out of him. He’s a little shy around strangers,” Anna said as she came around to pick him up again. Matty put his thumb in his mouth and continued to stare at Nezumi.

“Well, are you going to take any of my pie off my hands or what?”

They managed to leave the bakery with only half of what Nick and Anna tried to pile on them, which meant that they had half a dozen different pastries in addition to an entire pie. The look Anna flashed at Shion before they walked out the door was altogether too perceptive and Shion knew he was not going to be able to avoid an interrogation when he returned to work on Monday. He shrugged it off. Nezumi might be gone by then.

“Were you trying to prove something to me?” Nezumi asked, once they returned to the apartment.

“About the pastries?” Shion asked, feeling a wry smile creep onto his face again. “I may suffer the consequences for that later. They keep telling me I need to find someone nice and settle down like them. If I even mention anyone else around my age they tease me about it.”

Why was he walking himself into dangerous territory like this? He didn’t want to play games. He had resolved to stay away from this topic for his own sake.

Nezumi didn’t say anything. Shion could feel searching eyes on him as he unpacked the groceries and began preparing their dinner. He wondered what it was Nezumi was looking for.

There were so many questions Shion wanted to ask. _Why did you come here? How long will you stay? What do you want from me?_ He didn’t have the courage to speak any of them out loud. And then there was the question he didn’t even want to admit to himself that he wanted to ask. _Are your feelings for me the same as mine were for you?_ It was what had kept him up last night. It would be easier if Nezumi harbored no feelings for him beyond friendship. Nezumi would leave, and Shion would go back to the quiet life he had made for himself in No. 5. The only damage done would be the irritation of old wounds, and Shion could endure that.

But what if Nezumi’s feelings ran deeper than that? Shion was terrified of what that might mean. Years ago, he had hoped that one day they would be reunited and live out the rest of their lives together. But the older he grew, the more he came to understand what Nezumi had said to him before he left. Shion wanted to dedicate himself to something; first, it had been rebuilding No. 6, and now it was his students. It was more than that, though—he hadn’t even completed his teacher training before he began sketching mental plans for educational reform. That kind of work required staying in one place. But Nezumi was a wanderer. Shion didn’t want to tie him down or limit him: he wanted Nezumi to be free. If that meant sacrificing some of his own personal happiness, so be it.

Except that the more time he spent with Nezumi, the harder it was to maintain his resolve. He cherished the brief time they had spent together all those years ago, and the thought of being able to recreate those memories, without the tyranny of No. 6 looming over them, burned hot and bright within his heart. It was a dangerous idea. He was going to regard the brief time he had with Nezumi before he vanished again as the rekindling of a friendship and nothing else. But if Nezumi offered him more than that, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to resist.

“Shion.”

Shion snapped out of his reverie. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a pot of freshly-drained noodles in his hands. His cheeks were warm, although that may have had more to do with the steam rising off the pasta than his embarrassment.

“Airhead.” Nezumi laughed at him. “So you still zone out like that, huh?”

“Not really. It must be because you’re here.”

Shion hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It was the sort of thing his younger self would have done, speaking his honest thoughts freely and without hesitation.

Nezumi opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. His expression softened into a kind smile, and there was a tenderness in his normally sharp eyes which Shion couldn’t remember seeing there before. He forced himself to tear his gaze away.

_You can’t afford this._


	4. Chapter 4

_Does it not move you strangely, the love-bird's cry, tonight when, like the drifting snow, memory piles up on memory?_

-Murasaki Shikibu, _The Tale of Genji_

 

* * *

 

Nezumi found this quiet corner of No. 5 to be teeming with more activity and life than he had expected. Still, by the early afternoon he found himself bored, and returned to the apartment to wait for Shion. The afternoon was bright and breezy, and Nezumi stepped out onto the small balcony and leaned against the railing to look up at the sky, like Shion had done the night before. It was a stupid place for a balcony, he thought, as it afforded a good view of the alley, the plain brick building next door, and not much else.

The familiar sound of Shion’s voice caught his ear. He was speaking with a woman, whose bright laughter echoed down the alleyway. Nezumi’s curiosity took over, and he slipped up onto the roof to catch a glimpse of the pair.

The woman was one of the few people Nezumi had ever seen who might stand out in a crowd more than Shion did. She had long, fiery red hair and was wearing a dress with a vibrant pattern of sunflowers and a pair of purple sequined shoes. Shion was laughing at something she had said. Nezumi didn’t catch the joke, but he didn’t miss the look on Shion’s face as he looked at her, a smile more genuine than any he had given Nezumi since he had arrived. 

The woman’s expression turned a little more serious, and she put her hand on Shion’s upper arm. He could just barely make out what they were saying.

_You don’t have many friends in this city, Shion?_ That didn’t seem right. Shion attracted people like a magnet; he could befriend mice and children and even hardened people like Inukashi. And himself.

Whoever this woman was, she seemed to genuinely care about Shion. Something ugly was rising from somewhere deep in Nezumi’s animal brain. Was he jealous?

_You don’t have any right to be jealous._

He couldn’t help it. He wanted to know whether Shion had found anyone else in the intervening years. But old habits were turning out to be hard to break where Shion was concerned, and rather than simply asking directly, he fell into his old habit of teasing Shion instead.

The look Shion gave him was somehow both soft and hard at the same time, and Nezumi couldn’t figure out what it meant. He couldn’t comprehend Shion’s words, either. What did he mean, he thought women and men were the same? Did that mean he had experienced both, or neither? And when finally did get the courage to ask straight out, Shion ignored him, instead wearing a private, knowing smile that Nezumi found immensely irritating. 

Taking Nezumi to the bakery just felt manipulative. He could understand why Shion liked it so much, as its warmth and smell reminded him so forcibly of Karan’s, although he found Nick to be slightly overwhelming. He certainly hadn’t been expecting Anna to walk down the staircase carrying a child who so clearly belonged to her and Nick. He turned to Shion, expecting to find some satisfied look of triumph, but the his attention was fixed on the giggling child on Nick’s shoulders.

Shion always had been good with kids. He would kneel down so that he could speak to them face-to-face, rather than looking down on them like most adults did. The way Matty leaned his head into Shion and the gentle smile on Shion’s face made for a heartwarming scene.

_This is the Shion I remember._

“Can you say hello to Nezumi?”

Nezumi waved back at the sleepy eyed toddler. He didn’t know what to do with kids the way Shion did. They were so fragile; he was afraid he might break them.

Anna and Nick, it turned out, were the sort of incessantly kind people who will not let you walk away from them without accepting their affection in some way. Today, it came in the form of a large blueberry pie and a bag of pastries on the house.

_Was that what you were trying to show me, Shion? That people like that exist?_ Nezumi hadn’t met many people like that in his lifetime. He figured that Shion couldn’t only have been trying to prove that his relationship with Anna was, in fact, platonic, by introducing Nezumi to her husband and son. He didn’t know what to think when Shion told him that Anna and Nick would tease him about Nezumi’s presence. _Are you smiling like that because you think it’s that ridiculous, Shion?_

Nezumi had come here to to reunite with Shion and finally, after so long, open his heart to him, but instead he found himself swallowing question after question as Shion’s behavior made it clearer and clearer that his feelings for Nezumi were not the same as they had been ten years ago.

Shion had stopped, in the middle of the kitchen, a steaming pot of drained pasta in his hands, and was staring at nothing, his eyes glazed over and his lips just parted. Nezumi wondered, not for the first time, what was going on in that snowy head of his. He hadn’t been able to figure it out when they were sixteen, and it was even more of a mystery now.

“Shion.”

His head snapped up as his eyes came back into focus. Nezumi laughed at him. The lost expression on Shion’s face filled him with nostalgia.

“Airhead,” he said, more affectionate than teasing. “So you still zone out like that, huh?”

Shion shook his head, his face flushed. “Not really. It must be because you’re here.”

Nezumi was caught a little off-guard. It was the sort of thoughtless honesty that he would have expected from the Shion Nezumi remembered, not the reserved adult he had become. That wasn’t a bad thing, he decided. He had come to appreciate the slightly odd and blithely honest things which had often come out of Shion’s mouth. The memories brought a smile to his face

Shion turned away from him, placing the pot back on the stove.

They sat down for dinner in much the same way they had the previous night. Shion asked Nezumi more questions about his travels, and began telling anecdotes about the amusing and on occasion brilliant things his students would say or do.

“The education system here is so different than No. 6’s,” Shion said. “They don’t sort students out by ability until they’re in their eleventh year of schooling. Apparently they found that they couldn’t predict which students were going to perform well at all until they were that age, so they stopped trying to put them into categories. But in the old No. 6, they decided who would become an elite when they were only two years old. Can you imagine that? Matty is almost that age, and he can barely talk. If you only select certain people to receive privileges and specialized education from a young age, like the citizens of Chronos, those people are going to have an advantage over those who didn’t get them. But you wouldn’t know whether it was their innate ability or not.”

“It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Nezumi mused.

“Exactly!” Shion said, waving his fork so animatedly that he flung spots of pasta sauce onto the table. Nezumi watched the brightness in Shion’s eyes as he listened to Shion describe the set of issues he saw in No. 5’s educational system.

“Because I’m actually working as a teacher at a school, I can see things that I might not notice if I was a high-level administrator or government official. I think you have to understand how things work on the ground level if you want to really want to improve them.”

“I thought you came here to escape government work,” Nezumi said, grinning wryly. “You can’t help yourself, can you? You’ve been here less than two years and already you’re planning reforms.”

“It’s not wrong of me to want to change things for the better,” Shion retorted. “I got plenty of experience on the Restructural Committee. Maybe that kind of work is hard, but it’s worth doing.”

“You and your third options.”

“I was right, wasn’t I? It isn’t naïve or unreasonable to believe that we can make the future better than the present.”

Nezumi was glad to hear hope in Shion’s voice again. “You’re right,” he said. “It isn’t naïve.”

Shion looked at him with surprise for a moment, and then grinned. “I was expecting you to argue with me,” he said. “Or tell me I was an idiot, or something.”

Nezumi shook his head. “That was what you taught me, Shion. I don’t think I would have ever believed it if you hadn’t proved it to me.”

His hand was on Shion’s, although he couldn’t remember putting it there. He must have done it unconsciously. He leaned toward Shion, not sure what he intended to do, but before he had to decide Shion had pulled his hand away and stood up to put his empty plate in the sink.

“I’m glad,” he said, his back to Nezumi. “Shall we try Nick’s pie, then?”

“Oh… Sure.”

They settled on the couch again, each with a large slice of the blueberry pie in hand.

“You were right,” Nezumi said. “This might be as good as your mother’s.”

“It’s not as good,” Shion said, matter-of-factly. “It’s pretty close, though.”

Nezumi grinned. Even though Shion had shied from his touch earlier, they were sitting a few inches nearer than they had last night, which Nezumi decided to count as a win. He began pulling books off Shion’s shelf—most of them Nezumi recognized from the old library vault, although there were some new textbooks there, too—and the two of them looked through them together, reminiscing over the memories attached to them.

Shion’s eyes were slowly glazing over, whether from tiredness or something else Nezumi couldn’t tell. He had lapsed into silence as Nezumi paged through a battered copy of _One Thousand and One Nights._

“Hey, Shion.”

Shion turned to look at him, with an open smile. Nezumi hesitated. _You need to know_ , he told himself.

“Is it making things difficult for you, me being here?”

Shion’s face fell back into the calm neutrality which seemed to be his default expression now. “What do you mean, Nezumi? I told you I was happy to have you here.”

_Then why don’t I believe you?_ He wanted to scream. He had come to rely on Shion’s open honesty, and it was gone. _What’s happened to you? Did I do this to you, Shion?_

“I remember that one,” Shion said, pointing at the book in Nezumi’s hand. “The princess had to tell a story every night so that the sultan wouldn’t kill her. She had a pretty name…”

“Scheherazade.”

“That’s right. She was brave,” Shion said. “It must have been difficult to keep the king’s attention for so long.”

“Sure.” Nezumi knew Shion was brilliant, but his talent did not lie in literary analysis.

Shion yawned, and said something about going to bed. Nezumi asked, jokingly, if he was allowed to sleep on the pull-out couch again.

“As long as you promise to still be here in the morning,” Shion replied, before shutting himself in the bathroom.

Nezumi sighed. He needed to be honest with Shion. It was clear by now that he wasn’t going to share whatever was going on his mind with Nezumi, at least not in the same way he used to. Nezumi just wanted to understand where it was they stood with each other. If Shion wanted him to stay, he would stay. And if Shion wanted him gone, he would go. Shion didn’t have work tomorrow, so they would have plenty of time to talk. He wouldn’t let Shion avoid his questions—and he wasn’t going to let himself chicken out. 

“Hey—Shion?”

Shion paused just before turning off the light. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Oh.” Shion made an attempt at a smile. “You’re welcome. Good night, Nezumi.”

“Good night.”


	5. Chapter 5

_I am a miser of my memories of you_

_And will not spend them._

-Witter Bynner, _Coins_

 

* * *

 

“Have you ever been to the art museums here?”

Nezumi made a face which suggested to Shion that he didn’t have a great deal of interest in the museums. “Is that what do you usually do on weekends? Stare at old paintings?”

“I usually catch up on work and do chores. I figured you didn’t want to sit around and watch me grade homework.”

“You would be right about that.” He gestured lazily toward the window. “The weather’s nice. We should do something outside.”

Shion mentioned a large botanical garden on the southern outskirts of No. 5 he had been to several times, as the agricultural research done there interested him. To his surprise, Nezumi agreed to it.

“It’s springtime, so everything should be in full bloom,” Shion mused, feeling cheerful as he sat next to Nezumi on the light rail train that went to the outer districts of the city. Nezumi was staring out the window as the colorful scenery of the residential districts whizzed by, his arm draped across the back of Shion’s seat. He seemed to be lost in thought; Shion wasn’t even sure he had heard what he had said.

Shion had a lot to think about, too. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let himself get too attached to Nezumi again, but he was finding that an increasingly difficult task. He kept thinking about the question Nezumi had asked him last night. Because the honest answer to it was yes: Nezumi’s presence had upset the careful balance in Shion’s mind, had dragged up old emotions and hit Shion hard with new ones. He wondered if Nezumi could tell. He thought that he had managed to hide his confused feelings, but the fact that Nezumi had asked the question made him think he hadn’t done it very well. He could imagine Nezumi teasing him about it. _So your acting skills haven’t improved at all, huh?_

But it was also true that he liked being with Nezumi again. Although he still looked more or less the same on the surface, Shion could tell that Nezumi had changed during the time they had spent apart, and it seemed to be for the better. The older he grew, the more Shion had found himself losing his hold on the goodness in himself; Nezumi seemed to have moved in the opposite direction. It was like all his rough edges had been smoothed off. Harsh words and threats of violence had been replaced with gentle teasing and even tender smiles. The anger and vengeance that had burned him from within was gone. Nezumi no longer concealed the kindness Shion had known was at his core, but had only ever caught brief glimpses of. Shion wondered what had done it.

“This is the stop, isn’t it?” Nezumi asked.

“Oh.” Shion was embarrassed to realize he hadn’t been paying attention. “Yes, let’s go.”

“Did you space out again?” Nezumi asked, poking his arm. Shion ignored him.

The main gardens were filled with people taking advantage of the sunny spring afternoon. Parents pushed strollers and chased after small children, and couples old and young wandered through the flowerbeds. Shion wasn’t interested in this part of the park, though, and neither was Nezumi, so they headed down the trail to the wildflower fields.

They paused at the top of a hill which afforded a grand view of rolling hills blanketed in pink and purple flowers.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Shion said. “They don’t try to control this part. They just let it grow free.”

“It is beautiful,” Nezumi agreed.

“This is my favorite place in the city,” Shion said, quietly.

He could feel Nezumi’s eyes on him. “Shion—”

But before Nezumi could finish his sentence, Shion heard some familiar voices from behind him.

“Teacher!”

“Mr. Shion!”

“Hi Mr. Flower!”

Shion and Nezumi turned around to see a group of four teenagers waving at them.

“‘Mr. Flower’?” Nezumi asked, eyebrows raised in mild amusement.

“Asters don’t grow here, so when I tried to explain what my name meant, they just started calling me ‘Mr. Flower’ instead. I can’t get them to stop saying it.”

He waved at his students, who came running towards them, carrying brightly colored kites and large spools of string.

“Mauro, I’ve asked you not to call me that,” Shion scolded.

“It wasn’t me! That was George!”

“Liar!” George cried, elbowing Mauro in the ribs.

Shion ignored the bickering. “Are you all going to fly kites? The weather is perfect for it.”

“We built them ourselves, too,” Maya said.

Shion was impressed. “Really? Can I see?”

The children were eager to show him their designs. Mauro and Maya had each modeled theirs carefully after some professional designs they had found, while George and his twin sister Carina had tried to build one shaped like a dragon. They had also brought a few store-bought ones. “As a control group!” Maya informed him, proudly.

“Do you want to test them with us, Mr. Shion?”

Shion hesitated. Nezumi had hung back from their conversation, but Shion found himself seized by an impulse and decided to give in to it.

“Sure,” he said, which elicited a chorus of cheering from his students. “Hey, Nezumi,” he called back. “Have you ever flown a kite before?”

Nezumi shook his head, his hands in his pockets. The look he shot Shion was decidedly doubtful, which only egged Shion on more.

“We’ll teach you, then.” Shion wished he could have photographed the panic on Nezumi’s face. He found himself grinning madly and unable to stop. “Everyone, this is my friend Nezumi. Nezumi, this is Maya, Mauro, George, and Carina.”

All of the children stared at Nezumi in wide-eyed awe, except George. “‘Nezumi’? Like ‘rat’? That’s a strange name,” he said.

“It’s not weirder than being named ‘Mr. Flower,’” Maya countered. 

Nezumi looked at Shion, the corner of his mouth turned upward. “She has a point,” he said.

“Now, where are you going to fly your kites?” Shion asked.

“The very top of the hill!” The four students rushed past Shion and Nezumi, laughing and shouting as they raced each other to the top.

Shion grinned at Nezumi, who looked apprehensive.

“You’re ridiculous,” Nezumi said.

“And you aren’t?” Shion decided not to give either of them enough time to think about it too much. He grabbed Nezumi’s hand and ran up the hill after the kids, pulling Nezumi along with him.

At first Nezumi only watched as Shion helped get the first kite flying by standing a good distance ahead of Mauro and trying to toss his kite up to catch the wind. After three or four attempts the string went taught and the blue and red glider danced higher and higher above their heads.

The kids then suggested that Nezumi swap out for Shion’s role because of his superior height. Nezumi agreed to it, grinning at the students’ assertion. He took the dragon kite from Shion and launched it deftly into the air; it immediately rose up, its ribbon tail waving languidly behind it.

“I’m still taller,” Nezumi teased, smiling up at the kites bobbing up among the clouds.

“Not by much,” Shion retorted. He yelled back to his students. “Can Nezumi try your other kite?”

Everyone readily agreed, except Nezumi. He gave Shion a withering look, which Shion responded to by grabbing his hand and pulling him back to the top of the hill.

“You all can show Nezumi what to do. I’ll go launch it for you,” Shion said, taking the kite and running away again before Nezumi could protest.

“You just hold it like this, and when it gets too tight you let more string out…”

Shion couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore, but Nezumi was smiling and laughing with the kids, which made something swell in Shion’s heart. It wasn’t a memory, though; this feeling was new and unfamiliar, and he couldn’t put a name to it.

 _I can have this one indulgence._ This moment would be a something he could hold on to, once Nezumi inevitably left again.

They spent half an hour or so with the students before walking back down the hill and following a path that led down to a creek lined with shade trees.

“Remember when you taught me how to dance?” Shion asked, as they sat down against the trunk of a massive willow.

“Was that payback?”

“I’d rather think of it as returning a favor,” Shion quipped. His forehead creased. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Nezumi said. “It was fun.”

Shion was relieved. “I thought so, too.”

A chill gust of wind blew through, whipping the willow’s branches around them and rippling the surface of the creek into twinkling diamond.

“Shion.”

Nezumi’s voice was low and serious.

“Yes?”

“There’s something I want to talk about.”

_Shit._

“Sure,” Shion said, attempting a blithe smile. It didn’t matter. Nezumi wasn’t looking at him, but instead was staring up into the dense ceiling of branches above them. His profile was so lovely, with his sharp jaw and elegant neck stretched toward the sky…

“I want to talk about why I came here.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He listened intently as Nezumi told his story. Why he had left No. 6, the freedom and relief he had found on his own, the things he had learned traversing the vast distances between the isolated city-states.

“At first, I was just trying to let go of my past. I didn’t have a direction, other than trying to get away from No. 6. Everything that had happened because of that city—the Mao massacre, the West Block, the Correctional Facility—I managed to put it behind me. My hatred gradually faded away. I was finally free of No. 6, and I revelled in it.

“But you were right, Shion. I was also trying to put you behind me. My memories of you were too tangled up in my memories of No. 6, and I didn’t know how to separate them. I still thought of my attachment to you as a weakness, and I tried to let it go. I didn’t want to be tied down by anything. I wanted to live for myself alone. I had been taught that attachment to others was a useless burden because it put your own survival at risk, and that philosophy had kept me alive. Until you screwed it up for me.”

Nezumi smiled, half-heartedly, in response to Shion’s look of confusion. “When we were in the Correctional Facility, I realized that I was more afraid of losing you than of losing my own life. That _terrified_ me. I had never had feelings that strong for another person before, and I thought that it was dangerous. But after spending so much time alone, I began to wonder if I was satisfied with living only for myself. Once I had rid my heart of everything related to No. 6, I had nothing to replace it with. I was empty, and it ate away at me. I needed a better reason for existing.

“Shion, I went back to No. 6 because I wanted to see you again. You were the only person I had ever met who put others before himself without even thinking about it. You could see the good in people and keep your heart open in spite of everything you saw. I didn’t understand the power in that. I could feel it and I feared it, but I didn’t understand it, then. I do now." 

Shion frowned. Nezumi had been drawn back to him by qualities that he knew he had lost. He had consciously closed himself off, while Nezumi was exposing his heart to him. The irony of it made his stomach ache.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Nezumi turned to him, alarmed. “Why, Shion?”

He took a deep breath. He refused to let Nezumi see him cry. “I’m sorry for not being there when you returned to No. 6. And I’m sorry for not being able to stay the same person I was.”

Nezumi placed his hand on Shion’s, and Shion didn’t shy away from it this time. “You don’t need to apologize. I knew I would be able to find you. I wasn’t expecting you to be exactly the same. I was just happy to see you again.”

“I was happy to see you, too.”

Nezumi frowned. “I wish you would be honest with me.”

_Shit._

Shion pulled his hand away. “I guess my acting skills haven’t improved,” he said, feigning levity.

“Shion.”

Shion found himself trapped in Nezumi’s gaze. Its intensity had not faded in the intervening years.

“I walked away from you because I was afraid. I came back because I decided not to deny my feelings anymore. I want to stay with you, for good. I want to know if you want that, too.”

It was a beautiful, seductive idea, that the two of them could stay together. Shion had let go of it long ago. Nezumi would never be satisfied staying with Shion. It wasn’t just that they were incompatible by nature; even if Nezumi was willing to tie himself down to one place, Shion didn’t deserve him. Nezumi would leave him, sooner or later, and Shion would be stuck in the same downward spiral as before. It was better for both of them that they not get too close to each other in the first place.

Shion sighed. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” he said, softly.

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“I’m sorry,” Shion said, fighting tears. “I don’t know what to think. I like being with you, but I don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?”

_I don’t know if I would survive having my heart broken again._

Shion shook his head. He knew he would start crying if he opened his mouth.

Nezumi sighed, his expression softening. “It’s okay, Shion. You don’t have to answer right now.” He stood up, holding his hand out. “Why don’t we go home?”

Shion agreed, taking Nezumi’s hand and letting him pull him up.

They spoke on lighter topics as they made their way back to the light rail station. The train back into the city was warm and Shion was exhausted from two consecutive nights of restlessness, and the steady rocking of the train car made a gentle, sing-song lullaby…

Nezumi nudged him awake when they approached their stop. Shion’s eyes snapped open and he realized he had fallen asleep with his head on Nezumi’s shoulder, Nezumi’s arm around him.

“Come on, sleeping beauty,” Nezumi said, smirking slightly at the flush on Shion's face.


	6. Chapter 6

_Alec drew a fine telescope from his shirt and handed it to Milo._

_"Carry this with you on your journey," he said softly, "for there is much worth noticing that often escapes the eye. Through it you can see everything from the tender moss in a sidewalk crack to the glow of the farthest star — and, most important of all, you can see things as they really are, not just as they seem to be. It's my gift to you."_

-Norton Juster, _The Phantom Tollbooth_

 

* * *

 

 

Nezumi was extremely surprised to find himself flying a kite on a sunny hillside with a group of schoolchildren; he was even more surprised to find himself enjoying it. There was a simple joy in watching the colorful constructions of fabric and balsa wood soaring up into the air, which he associated with the gentle music of the rain as it soaked into a forest floor and the soft song of the sunrise as it chased away a chill night.

Nezumi found Shion’s students incredibly amusing. He seemed to scare them, at first, but once they had shoved a spool of string into his hands and begun telling him what to do with it, their curiosity overcame their fear.

“Are you from No. 6 like Mr. Shion?” the curly-haired boy named George asked.

“No. I’m not from a city.”

The children were amazed by this, and began asking question after question. “Are you from the wilderness? Do you sleep outside? Have you ever had to fight anyone?”

“Sort of, sometimes, and yes,” Nezumi said, grinning.

“Were you raised by wolves?” George asked, eyes wide.

Carina elbowed her brother. “Of course he wasn’t. He’s talking like a person!”

Nezumi laughed. “I was definitely raised by people. Although I know somebody who was raised by dogs, and they can speak to people just fine.”

Carina gave him a doubtful look, which only made him laugh harder.

“If you’re not from No. 6, how do you know Mr. Flower?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, truthfully. The children begged to hear it, and Nezumi tried to distill the story down as dramatically as possible. “He saved my life, and then I saved his. We infiltrated a prison and blew it up, and caused a government to collapse.”

The children did not believe him. “There’s no way Mr. Shion could have done that.”

Nezumi shrugged. “It’s true.”

“Mr. Flower told us he got his scar from a wasp. That’s not true, is it?”

“It is,” Nezumi confirmed. “I was there when it happened. It’s why his hair is white, too.”

“Mr. Nezumi,” Maya asked, “Are you Mr. Shion’s boyfriend?”

“I’m not ‘Mister’ anything. I’m just Nezumi.”

“You didn’t answer the question!”

Nezumi was impressed by Maya’s nosy indignation. “Did Shion tell you he has a boyfriend?”

“We know he’s single,” Mauro said. “He wouldn’t tell us but I heard the other teachers gossiping about it.”

“Can you imagine him going on a date? He would probably never stop talking about boring things like bugs and ecosystems and whatever,” Carina said, her nose scrunched up with disgust.

“Just because _you_ failed the ecology exam—”

“I did not!” Carina punched Maya in the arm as Maya giggled madly. “I got a 75, that’s a pass!”

“Are you all this rowdy during class?” Nezumi asked, as Shion was coming back up the hill.

Mauro looked at him like he was stupid. “It’s the weekend, we don’t have to behave.”

“Did you hear that, Mr. Flower? What kinds of things are you teaching your students?”

“Don’t call me that,” Shion snapped. “And I gave up on manners a long time ago. This group in particular is hopeless.”

The students immediately erupted into vocal protests at the patent unfairness of this statement. Nezumi snorted at the weariness with which Shion rolled his eyes.

The children continued to bombard him with questions. Shion occasionally chastised them when they began asking things which were too personal, but Nezumi didn’t mind. The subject of Shion’s romantic life didn’t come up again, although he noticed Maya staring openly at them when Shion placed his arms around Nezumi’s to help get his kite back up to altitude. They shouted cheerfully after Shion and Nezumi as they left.

“Thanks for flying kites with us Mr. Shion!”

“Thanks Mr. Nezumi!”

“Mr. Flower, can we get extra credit for our kites?”

“Only if you write a two-page report on them. And stop calling me that!” All four of the children cackled with laughter at Shion’s exasperation.

Nezumi wanted to laugh when Shion brought up his dance lesson from all those years ago. His intention back then had been to prove something to Shion; he wondered if that was what Shion had been doing, too. He could only guess what that something might be, though.

Nezumi had often been annoyed by Shion’s old habit of speaking whatever was on his mind, no matter how embarrassing or strange, but the habit that replaced it, a refusal to answer questions directly accompanied by a private smile, was infinitely more irritating.

_You need to say it_.

“Shion.”

A line of creases appeared on Shion’s forehead. “Yes?”

“There’s something I want to talk about.”

It was a relief, to finally say the words out loud and without interruption. Shion stayed silent, although he tugged absently at his bangs as Nezumi spoke. Nezumi had forgotten about that particular habit of Shion’s. He had only ever done it when he was anxious.

Why was he _apologizing_? Even when Shion explained, it didn’t make any sense. And then he was lying, too, drawing his hand away from Nezumi’s and closing himself off again…

_What is it that you really want, Shion?_ The other man stared out over the water in silence, and Nezumi could see darkness falling over his face.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Shion finally said, his voice quiet and flat.

Nezumi found his answer unsatisfactory. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

Shion seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “I like being with you, but I don’t know…” Shion swallowed, and didn’t finish his sentence.

“Don’t know what?” Nezumi asked, frustrated.

Shion just shook his head, looking like he was about to cry.

Nezumi was swept by a wave of guilt. He couldn’t blame Shion for being confused. It was enough that he was able to express his feelings to Shion; he didn’t need an answer right away.

_You made him wait ten years. You can be patient._

Shion was still willing to take his hand and let Nezumi pull him up; he wasn’t being pushed away yet, and that was enough for now.

“Your students asked me if I was raised by wolves,” Nezumi said, as they walked back to the train station. “I told them about Inukashi, but they didn’t believe me.”

The corner of Shion’s mouth curled upward. “They are a very inquisitive group.”

Nezumi had figured out by now that getting Shion talking about his pupils would bring light to his face, and his tactic worked: by the time the next train arrived, Shion was smiling again.

Shion fell asleep on Nezumi’s shoulder almost as soon as the train began to move. He put his arm around the sleeping man, feeling protective. Nezumi wondered if he’d been able to sleep last night or if he had stayed up again like he had the night before.

“Come on, sleeping beauty.” He smiled at the blush blooming across Shion’s cheeks. Shion mumbled something about unappreciated nicknames, which just made Nezumi snicker.

He really did seem to be exhausted, though. They opted to take turns showering before making dinner, but when Nezumi came out of the bathroom to tell Shion it was his turn, he found Shion on the couch, fast asleep again. Nezumi decided to let him rest for a while before waking him up. He looked so soft and vulnerable like that, his hair mussed and mouth slightly open, the glow of the setting sun falling over his face.

He wasn’t delicate, though. Nezumi thought back to the incident that had given Shion his scar. It had been the first time Nezumi had realized that Shion was stronger than he looked.

_I assumed I knew everything about you because you were from No. 6._ Shion hadn’t made assumptions. He had asked Nezumi a million inane questions, instead. Shion’s relentless curiosity used to irritate him; he had regarded it as the entitlement of a No. 6 citizen accustomed to being given whatever they asked for. But Shion had simply been seeking the truth, no matter how difficult it was to look at. Nezumi had a great deal of respect for that.

Shion had survived a horrific trial in the Correctional Facility and months in the West Block, and come out of it all more or less intact. But eight years on the Restructural Committee had apparently broken him. Nezumi couldn’t make sense of it.

_It was because you abandoned him_.

Nezumi had dismissed it as childish drama when Shion had told him that his world meant nothing without him, but maybe Shion had been speaking the truth. Maybe he did need Nezumi. Except that Shion had settled perfectly into a life in No. 5, with a cozy apartment, friends who cared about him, and fulfilling work. He had managed just fine for years without Nezumi. That couldn’t be the problem.

Maybe he had placed to great a burden on Shion’s shoulders, in tasking him with rebuilding No. 6. It couldn’t have been easy work. In retrospect, it was a ridiculous amount of responsibility to place on a sixteen-year-old, even one as bright as Shion.

There was no use in guessing. Nezumi figured he would just have to ask directly when he had the opportunity.

Nezumi let Shion nap for half an hour or so before gently shaking him awake. “The shower’s available,” he said. “I’m going to start dinner, if that’s okay with you.”

Shion came out of the shower a few minutes later, much more alert and smelling fresh and clean.

“I’m sorry for falling asleep on you like that,” he said.

“I didn’t realize how tired you were. Did you have trouble sleeping last night?”

Shion only shrugged in reply. “What are you making? Can I help?”

They ate dinner—vegetable stew—in amicable silence, and then sipped mugs of hot chocolate while they finished off large slices of the blueberry pie.

“This is much more comfortable than life in the West Block,” Nezumi commented, leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t know. I know it was difficult, but I liked that life.” Shion glanced around his small apartment. “It is nice having windows, though,” he mused.

“Shion, can I ask you about something?”

The smile that had been dancing around Shion’s lips disappeared. “Sure,” he said.

“Why did you come to No. 5?”

“Oh.” Shion seemed, if anything, a little relieved. “I travelled to all of the other city-states after leaving, actually. I had visited them before on business, but I wanted to learn more about what life was like in other places. I wasn’t exactly looking to settle down anywhere. But this was where Safu went to study abroad, and when I came here… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I’m sure she would be proud of all the work you’ve done,” Nezumi said, softly.

Shion shook his head. “I’m not so sure. Safu was such a driven person—I don’t think she would have understood why I abandoned my work in No. 6.”

“Why _did_ you leave?”

“I’ve told you,” Shion said, staring blankly at his hands. “Working on the Restructural Committee changed me into a person I didn’t recognize anymore. Once the new government was elected, the city could move forward on its own. I probably should have stayed to assist the new city council, but I told myself I wasn’t needed anymore and ran away.”

“Shion?”

Shion looked up at him, his face still blank.

“What happened?”

Shion frowned. “With the Restructural Committee?”

Nezumi nodded.

He sighed. “It wasn’t one thing,” he said. “It was a lot of small things. It wasn’t easy to convince the citizens of Chronos that the redistribution of resources to aid the West Block was necessary. There were decisions I had to make where there were no good options, and I had to make compromises over and over again, until I wasn’t sure what was really justified and right anymore. I realized that there were still people in power who didn’t have good intentions for the citizens, and it made me suspicious and paranoid. I made decisions unilaterally that I had no right to make without consulting my colleagues and the community, because I believed I knew better than everyone else. The worst days were when something I had done with good intentions backfired, or when something went wrong because of something I had overlooked. We took too long to develop a functioning healthcare system in the West Block, for example, and measles broke out before we could get vaccinations to enough people. Almost a hundred children died, and we could have prevented it so easily…”

Shion’s eyes had glazed over. It was only a moment, though, before Shion seemed to shake himself and his voice became clear and steady again.

“I did my best to learn from my mistakes. I was responsible for the lives of so many people—I had to keep moving forward. I could endure anything as long as I knew I was working for a better future. I tried to hold on long enough to be able to show you what I had done, but I wasn’t strong enough. The way I was living was unsustainable, and eventually it caught up to me.”

There was still regret and apology in Shion’s voice. Nezumi placed his hand on Shion’s, and Shion gave him a sad half-smile.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Nezumi said. “I think I understand better now.”

“Understand what better?”

“You,” Nezumi said. He couldn’t helping smiling at Shion’s confusion. “You were always a mystery to me, Shion.”

Shion shook his head. “I’m just a person.”

“Yes, but you’re an extraordinary one.”

“So are you.” Shion smiled down at his mug. “You were always a mystery to me, too. I never understood how so much kindness and cruelty could be contained in one person like that.”

“I’d like to think I’ve changed since I was sixteen,” Nezumi said, feeling defensive.

“You definitely have. You haven’t called me an idiot or threatened to kill me once since you got here.”

Nezumi was almost impressed. “You’ve changed, too. Your tongue’s gotten sharper.”

“I’m not as innocent as I used to be,” Shion replied, the smallest smirk on his face.

Nezumi watched Shion as he put away the dried dinner dishes, the muscles of his back and arms just visible as they flexed beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt, and wondered what was going on inside the other man’s head. He was beginning to worry that he had overstayed his welcome. Shion had told Nezumi that he was welcome to stay and that he was happy to see him again, and Nezumi knew that neither of those things were exactly true. But Shion hadn’t asked him to leave yet, and he would have to be satisfied with that for now.

He hoped that Shion would let him stay. He had feigned exasperation at it, but he had liked having Shion fall asleep on him, his warm body pressed against Nezumi’s and soft white hair underneath his fingertips…


	7. Chapter 7

_The hopples fall from your ankles, you find an unfailing sufficiency,_

_Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest, whatever you are promulges itself,_

_Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided, nothing is scanted,_

_Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you are picks its way._

-Walt Whitman, “To You,” _Leaves of Grass_

 

* * *

 

Shion didn’t really want to talk about the Restructural Committee, but he felt that he owed Nezumi the truth, particularly since he had explained the reason he returned. To Shion’s surprise, it was something of a relief to tell Nezumi his story. He still harbored so much guilt over his actions, and he was still ashamed that the work had broken him the way it did, but Nezumi didn’t mock or reproach him for it. The feeling of Nezumi’s hand on his anchored him as he breathed through the storm of emotions that had risen in his chest.

“You were always a mystery to me, Shion.”

Nezumi had said things like that before, and Shion had never been able to understand why. Nezumi had always been the mysterious one in Shion’s mind, capable of violence and kindness in equal measure. Shion wondered what he was thinking as his eyes followed Shion’s movements in silence.

 _He probably wants an answer to his question_ , Shion thought, a little ruefully. Nezumi had made it clear what he wanted, and Shion was as uncertain as ever.

_I don’t trust him not to break my heart again._

But Nezumi wanted him, at least for the moment, and Shion found himself succumbing to the long-suppressed temptation that had worked its way back into the deepest parts of himself.

_You’re going to get your heart broken either way._

It was a terrible, reckless idea, and Shion knew he was going to regret it.

* * *

“Nezumi, I want to ask you something. And please don’t make fun of me.”

Nezumi’s head shot up. “What is it?”

Shion turned back to the sink, his face growing hot. “Yesterday you asked me whether I had learned anything about sex.”

Shion heard the soft _thunk_ of Nezumi’s coffee mug being placed on the table, but Nezumi didn’t say anything, and Shion didn’t quite have the courage to turn around and see his reaction.

“You were right. I still haven’t had any experience with that. Because…”

He vaguely registered the sound of Nezumi leaving his seat.

“…You were the only person I’ve ever been interested in.”

Nezumi paused in the middle of Shion’s tiny kitchen. There was a small frown playing around his lips but his silver eyes were wide and shining, and captivating as ever. Shion sighed, tearing his gaze away.

_This is going to ruin me._

“Nezumi… I want to have sex. With you.”

_Before you disappear again._

“Are you sure, Shion?”

_Not in the slightest._

Shion nodded. “Yes,” he said, quietly.

He felt a strong arm wrap around his waist and warm breath on the back of his neck as Nezumi pressed his lithely muscled body into Shion’s. He melted into Nezumi’s touch, the intensity of the sensation overwhelming all the doubtful voices in his mind.

“Your syntax is still terrible,” Nezumi whispered, directly into Shion’s ear.

“I asked you not to make fun of me."

“I’m not making fun of you.” Nezumi ran his finger over the scar at the back of Shion’s neck, making him shiver. “Is it really that sensitive?”

“I don’t know. I don’t usually let other people touch it.”

“I’m honored.”

Nezumi stepped away and pulled him around so that they were looking at each other face to face. “I’m happy to indulge your request, Shion. But I need you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable or want to stop.”

Shion nodded. “Of course.”

“Promise it.”

“I promise.”

Nezumi rested his hand on the side of Shion’s face, his eyes the mercurial silver of a sea before a storm; Shion had a fanciful thought that he might drown in them. He reached for Nezumi’s other hand, tangling their fingers together and wordlessly begging Nezumi to pull him close again.

“What do you want, Shion?”

This was entirely new territory for Shion, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it. He answered with the only thing he knew for certain.

“I want you,” he whispered.

Shion saw the smallest smirk on Nezumi’s face before he was pulled into a searing kiss. His mind went blissfully blank. He had no idea what he was doing, but that didn’t matter. Nezumi was _here_ , and that was all Shion needed to know.

Their migration from the kitchen to the bed was altogether too slow to satisfy the burning desire that had taken hold deep in Shion’s abdomen. It was a relief to yield to Nezumi’s guidance and lie beneath him, letting him claim ownership of what had always been only his. Nezumi put his hand on Shion’s open palm and laced their fingers together.

“You’re beautiful,” Shion whispered, reaching up to touch Nezumi’s face. Nezumi’s hair had come undone and dark locks fell over his shoulders, tickling Shion’s chest. Shion tried to commit every intoxicating detail of the feeling to memory, of having Nezumi so close.

“So are you,” Nezumi murmured, running his fingers through Shion’s hair, his eyes somehow soft and wicked at the same time, like the surface of a lake sparkling in the winter sun.

_If nothing else, you’ll have this._

Shion pulled Nezumi down into another desperate kiss as he pushed his hips upwards to grind against Nezumi’s.

“So impatient, Shion,” Nezumi scolded.

Shion was too far gone to be embarrassed. “I can’t help it,” he said, his breath catching in his throat.

Nezumi laughed softly into his mouth. “You poor thing,” he said, running a single graceful finger along the scar on Shion’s chest. The skin there wasn’t as sensitive as that on his neck, but the sensation still sent a pleasant shiver through his body, like hot liquid being trickled over him.

“Stop teasing me.”

“Oh, but what’s the fun in that?” Nezumi said, his voice lilting.

“Nezumi.”

Nezumi’s expression turned serious. “Shion, are you really sure this is okay?”

Shion nodded. He tangled his fingers into Nezumi’s hair and pulled him close to whisper into his ear.

“Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

Shion caught only a brief glimpse of the fire in Nezumi’s eyes before he was consumed by it.

 

* * *

 

The man standing before him was truly a mystery, Nezumi decided. So much about Shion had changed, but here he was, making embarrassingly direct declarations as if he had turned back into his sixteen-year-old self.

Nezumi had always liked looking at Shion. He liked touching him too, although back then he had thought of it more like petting one of his mice than caressing a lover. Or at least, that was what he had told himself. Those kinds of thoughts were dangerous, and Nezumi had pushed them away.

Everything was different now. Shion had matured from an awkward innocent into a self-assured adult, and Nezumi wasn’t afraid of his desire anymore. And the open, needy expression on Shion’s flushed face was the definition of temptation.

“Are you sure, Shion?”

Nezumi needed to know. He had more than enough regrets where Shion was concerned. But once the assent passed Shion’s lips, he was unable to hold himself back. Shion’s body was pliant to Nezumi’s touch, and Nezumi could feel him shudder as he ran his fingers over the patch of snakelike scar at the base of his neck.

 _I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for, Shion_. But Shion promised to tell him if he needed to stop. Nezumi tilted Shion’s face up towards his, the tips of his fingers grazing the red scar on his cheek. Shion was choosing to trust Nezumi, and he intended to reward him for it.

_Please tell me what it is that you want, Shion._

“I want you.”

_Finally._

Shion kissed shyly and sweetly, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but was eager to learn. Nezumi ran his fingers through the fine white hair at the back of his head and deepened the kiss, pulling Shion closer with one hand pressed into the small of his back. Shion’s eyes opened in surprise, and then softened shut again as his body relaxed into Nezumi’s. He wrapped his arms around Nezumi’s waist, his fingers fluttering against his back like he was afraid of breaking him. Nezumi smirked against Shion’s lips, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on his own cheek. Shion took the hint and firmed his grip on Nezumi’s torso.

“What a good student you are,” Nezumi murmured.

Shion gazed openly up at him, his pupils dilated. “You really are a good kisser.”

Nezumi laughed, recapturing Shion’s mouth for a moment before pulling it away again. Shion leaned up toward him, his lips chasing Nezumi’s as if the kiss had ended before he wanted it to.

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

Nezumi pressed a line of kisses down Shion’s jaw to the side of his neck, pausing when he got to the red scar just above his collarbone. He dragged his tongue against the rough patch of skin, and Shion let out a gasp which Nezumi felt deep in his abdomen.

“Too much?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Shion shook his head, his eyes wide. “Just surprising.”

Nezumi began unbuttoning Shion’s shirt. It was simple but well made, and actually fit him, unlike his clothes had when he lived in the West Block. Nezumi approved of the garment in general, but right now it was in the way: he wanted a closer look at the rest of him…

Shion hummed his approval as Nezumi nuzzled his collarbone and pressed his hands into Shion’s sides. He was more muscle and less bone now, although the winding scar was unchanged—still snakelike and alluring, a fitting reminder of the price of survival.

Shion tugged at the hem of Nezumi’s tunic, and Nezumi let him pull it off. He began to imitate what Nezumi had just done, running his palms over Nezumi’s chest. There was a mixture of desire and fascination on his face, like he was seeing Nezumi for the first time, and enjoying it.

Then Shion threw his arms around Nezumi’s neck and buried his face in Nezumi’s hair, in a way that was distinctly less sensual than what he’d been doing moments before. Nezumi hugged him back, bemused.

“You okay?”

“I’m just glad you came back,” Shion said, quietly.

It was the truth this time.

Nezumi was beginning to understand that Shion was too large and complex for him to fully grasp. There was too much goodness and raw power contained in this outwardly placid man. Nezumi remembered how it used to scare him; and if he were honest with himself, it still did. Trying to look at him directly felt like staring into the sun.

But Shion was just a human. He was breakable and vulnerable and limited. And that part of him was complicated, too. Maybe that was why he loved him so much.

_Loved?_

That was a terrifying idea. Nezumi wasn’t ready to deal with it yet.

He took Shion’s face in both hands and leaned in so that their foreheads touched. “I’m glad to be back,” he said, before pressing his lips to Shion’s again.

* * *

Nezumi came out of the bathroom to find Shion wearing the cotton shirt and pants he usually slept in, sitting up against the headboard with his knees pulled up to his chest. He was staring in Nezumi’s direction but his eyes were blank and unfocused, and he made no reaction when Nezumi sat down on the side of the bed. Nezumi waved his hand in front of Shion’s face.

Shion started. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I keep doing that.”

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Shion’s eyes widened for a moment before his expression relaxed back into a smile. “I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

Nezumi had had more than one one night stand in his life, but this experience was unprecedented. Sex had always been a means to an end for Nezumi, something to satisfy physical urges and nothing more. There had never been any attachment, and certainly no emotional intimacy. Everything was different with Shion. Nezumi was used to exaggerated moans and vapid words of praise, but Shion gasped with surprise and groaned with pleasure like he could not contain himself. He responded to every new sensation with wide-eyed awe, as if he were struggling to take it all in, and murmured Nezumi’s name like a prayer as the tension unwound from his limbs. Shion hadn’t been content to remain passive, either: he attempted to reciprocate everything Nezumi would let him, in the same shyly sweet way that he kissed. Shion had opened up to him in a way he never had before—and _that_ had been just about the most arousing thing Nezumi had ever experienced.

So seeing Shion close off so quickly confused him. After cleaning themselves off a bit, he had intended to drift blissfully to sleep with Shion in his arms, but Shion looked like a hedgehog curled up in self-defense: clearly not meant to be touched. Nezumi was not sure what had caused it, but he wasn’t about to push the issue.

Nezumi found the hair tie that had come undone at some point and began braiding his hair again so that it wouldn’t tangle in his sleep. Shion stopped him, grabbing his arm.

“Can I do it?” he asked, his voice tentative but his eyes eager. Nezumi wanted to laugh at him for being shy about such an innocent thing, right after what they had just done, no less; but he knew that would likely cause Shion to shut down further, so he just handed Shion the hair tie with a wordless smile.

Shion knelt behind him, running deft fingers through his hair to untangle it, and then weaving it securely into a neat plait. Nezumi enjoyed the feeling. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him with so much care and gentleness. The last person who had done that had been Shion, he realized, when he had removed the bandages on his chest once the wound that nearly killed him in the Correctional Facility had finally healed.

Nezumi felt Shion fasten the end of his hair. He was about to stand up again when Shion wound his arms tightly around Nezumi’s torso and buried his head into his shoulder.

“Shion?” Nezumi asked, bemused again. It felt like Shion was trying to prevent him from flying away.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Shion said, quietly.

Nezumi felt an unfamiliar pang in his abdomen, as if his stomach had suddenly misplaced itself. He reached up to put one hand on Shion’s head and rested the other on Shion’s tense fingers, running his thumb over the back of his hand.

“I was so lost when you left,” Shion said, his voice soft but steady. “You had woken me to reality, had shown me that I had all these things in me that I’d never realized were there… I owed everything to you. I didn’t know who I was without you, Nezumi. When you were gone, I—it was like I couldn’t find solid ground to walk on. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Nezumi turned around as Shion spoke, gently unfastening the grip on his torso so that he could embrace him head-on. Pieces of the puzzle that was Shion were finally starting to fall into place. Shion believed he was the remarkable person he was only because of Nezumi. And then Nezumi had placed an enormous burden on Shion’s shoulders, and left him to carry it alone.

“I’m pathetic,” Shion said softly.

“No.” Nezumi grabbed Shion by the chin. “Shion, look at me.”

Shion’s eyes met his, and Nezumi locked them there.

Shion had endured and survived, over and over again. He had never needed Nezumi; Nezumi may have catalyzed Shion’s awakening to his own true nature, but he was sure that had been inevitable. No one who had been seized by the urge to throw open their window during a hurricane and scream into the abyss at the age of twelve would have been content in the antiseptic bubble of the old No. 6 for very long.

“You are not pathetic,” he said, firmly. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

Doubt was etched into every corner of Shion’s face, and he said nothing. He wasn’t closing off, though. He was still holding Nezumi’s gaze, and Nezumi knew he had an opportunity to reach Shion, if he could find the right words…

When he was younger, he had thought people were too easy to understand. It was a very simple thing to read other people, to know their secrets and desires; and from there it was easy to manipulate them, adapting himself to suit whatever the situation called for. Shion was different. Nezumi had never been able to predict or control him, and Shion could see through Nezumi in a way no one else ever had. Empty words could not convince him.

_How do I reach you?_

Shion hadn’t wanted to be coddled. He had always wanted the truth.

“You didn’t need me,” Nezumi said, dropping all pretense of warmth or tenderness.

Shion’s head jerked back, his face darkening.

“You didn’t need me,” Nezumi repeated, flatly. “The fact that you’re here and breathing proves that. You rebuilt No. 6 and made a life here without me. The things that make you extraordinary—you don’t owe them to me. You always had them. And you held on to them even though I mocked you and told you to throw them away.

“I won’t apologize for leaving you, Shion. And I won’t apologize for staying away as long as I did. I left you to do battle with new demons on your own because I knew you could do it. I watched you discard a pampered life in Chronos, thrive in the West Block, and survive infiltrating the Correctional Facility. You are a monster that cannot be stopped, and I didn’t make you that way.”

Shion had gone perfectly still, but a flame had ignited behind his eyes which Nezumi had only ever caught glimpses of before. He held on to it and refused to let go.

“Listen, Shion. I didn’t come back because you needed me. I didn’t even come back because I promised that I would return. I came back because I was drawn to you. That's all.”

Shion stared at him for a long moment, his face impassive.

“Those are precious words, Nezumi.” Shion's voice concealed a deadly sharpness beneath its cool and neutral surface. “You should be more careful with them.”

_You bastard._

“Do you really expect me to believe you when you say things like that? You weren’t drawn to me _._ The person you were drawn to doesn’t exist anymore. You have no idea who I am,” he said, coldly. The coldness didn’t extend to his eyes, though: they challenged him, burning brighter than before.

Shion was right. This calmly composed man was different than the artless child he had left. There were pieces of him—the naïve trust in others, the open-hearted honesty, the free display of emotion—that seemed to be gone forever, erased by his tenure in the world of politics. And there were new pieces to him, too, many of which Nezumi probably wasn’t even aware of yet. All of those were superficial aspects of Shion. The things that made him _Shion_ —the indestructible hope, the resolve to know and confront the truth, the steadfast will of someone who refused to stop moving forward—were still there.

“It’s true that there’s a lot I don’t know about you anymore. But I know enough to know you’re still Shion.” Nezumi reached for Shion’s hand again, and Shion took it, letting Nezumi lace their fingers together. “And I know I’m still drawn to you,” he said, softly.

Shion threw his arms around Nezumi’s neck, the force of his embrace knocking both of them back down onto the bed. Nezumi could feel Shion’s smile against his lips, and also taste the salty bitterness of tears there—which was odd, since Shion’s eyes were dry.

 _Unpredictable as always,_ he thought, smiling to himself as Shion rested his head against Nezumi’s chest.

“Thank you,” Shion whispered. Nezumi held him close and placed a light kiss on the top of his snowy head.

It was messy and imperfect, but it didn’t matter. He had Shion, and that was more than enough.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my name is Kathleen and I am addicted to em dashes—

* * *

 

 

_Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind_

_Cannot bear very much reality._

_Time past and time future_

_What might have been and what has been_

_Point to one end, which is always present._

-T. S. Eliot, _Four Quartets_

 

* * *

 

Shion had figured out a long time ago that he had the sort of mind that was difficult to turn off. His compulsion to understand and explain the world around him was part of what had made his life in the old No. 6 so acutely stifling. It was also making this experience with Nezumi particularly intense. He attempted to comprehend it all, to commit all of it to memory—the sensation of Nezumi’s skin on his, what Nezumi’s sure fingers were doing to his body, the very interesting things Nezumi could do with his tongue—but it was too much happening too quickly to process. He found purchase instead in the grey eyes which shone like beacons in the low light of the room, and let them hold him in place.

 _“Nezumi,”_ he breathed. He found those eyes hovering just above him; there was something in their depths that felt suspiciously like love. Shion threw himself into it.

The walls he had built so carefully around his heart were crashing around his feet, and he barely noticed.

* * *

 Shion fell back on the bed, his hands still entwined in Nezumi’s hair, blissfully exhausted. Nezumi stretched out next to him, propping his head on his arm and tracing small circles on Shion’s chest with an elegant finger.

“That was amazing,” Shion said. It wasn’t praise or even gratitude—it was simply the truth. Nezumi just hummed in reply, one eyebrow arched and the corner of his mouth turned upward. Shion leaned over to place a light kiss on his lips. Nezumi hummed again, reciprocating lazily.

_I don’t want this moment to end._

But end it did: Nezumi disentangled himself from Shion, ruffling his hair before heading into the bathroom. Nezumi’s absence left Shion feeling vulnerable and cold; he pulled on his sleep clothes and wrapped his arms around his knees. The flood of thought and feeling that had been stayed by Nezumi’s nearness crashed over him as he stared at the door the other man had just disappeared behind.

_You’re an idiot._

He had known better. Shion had spent ten years learning this lesson, and done it anyway: he had let his heart overrule his head. He squeezed his legs closer towards his chest, taking in the soft texture of the wrinkled sheets under his feet and the cold firmness of the wall at his back. Moments like these were luxuries bought on credit, and when the bill came he wasn’t going to be able to pay.

 _Why do I keep doing this?_ Shion wondered as Nezumi’s image came into focus in front of him. Losing himself in thought was a habit he had broken very early on in his work on the Restructural Committee. It was difficult enough to keep track of the arguments being made in all their complexity, let alone all the layered meanings woven between words, when he was fully alert. Lapses in attention were too easily taken advantage of by those shrewder and more calculating than himself.

Raven hair hung around Nezumi’s shoulders and his finely sculpted cheekbones were dusted with the lightest flush. There was no sarcasm, no pity, no desperation in his eyes. He looked beautiful, Shion thought, with his head tilted like that, and that affectionate smile that had only rarely been bestowed upon him in the past.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

It took Shion a moment to realize that Nezumi meant ‘hurt’ in the physical sense, because it felt like he had been hurt in just about every other way. But Nezumi had been attentive and surprisingly gentle, running soothing fingertips over Shion’s body to monitor for any signs of discomfort or pain, and Shion had only been overwhelmed by how pleasurable all of it was. Nezumi stared at him for a moment, his relief melting into a bemused smile, before shrugging slightly and turning away again.

This was a different person than the one Shion had known all those years ago. He had suspected for a long time that Nezumi’s hard exterior had been the product of trauma too cruel endured at too young an age. There was no way someone who had committed to heart all those stories about bravery and love and loss was truly that cold-blooded and heartless. Shion had always believed that Nezumi’s true nature was something greater than what he showed to the world, but he had chosen to conceal it for some reason, or refused to acknowledge it at all.

If Nezumi’s exterior had once been ice, then there had been fire burning just below it, fueled by anger and revenge; that was gone, now, too. Shion’s lingering resentment towards Nezumi had made it difficult for him to see, but he understood now that Nezumi had cast away the things that separated him from Shion—at the same time Shion had been building walls around his heart.

_Just like the old No. 6._

He should have known better. He should have known that the walls would have to come down eventually. Artificial containment of human populations was an enterprise for fools; it shouldn’t have surprised him that this was true of human hearts, too.

Shion was overcome by a familiar feeling as he wove his fingers through Nezumi’s sleek hair. Ten years ago, the walls around No. 6 had come down, and while Shion knew that it was a necessary step in order to move forward, he had also known that there was no guarantee that it would have the effect he hoped for. He knew that there was a likelihood that the violence and conflict which would ensue had the potential to end the human experiment there permanently. That was the collective risk they had taken. The wall had to come down in order to move forward, but it was only the painful first step of a long and difficult journey.

People were the same, Shion realized. He had shut himself away because that had been easier than accepting the risk of being hurt again—but he didn’t want to be like the founders of No. 6. He had known 10 years ago that destroying the wall was a difficult but necessary task, and he knew that to be true here and now, too. He would just have to accept whatever outcome it precipitated.

 _“I’ve missed you so much.”_ Shion had hardly been able to admit it to himself, let alone to Nezumi; but once he had opened the floodgates the words kept coming, ugly and awkward and painfully true. Nezumi was trying to comfort him, but Shion could see through his words—Nezumi had no idea. He hadn’t known Shion at his worst.

“You didn’t need me.”

_What?_

Nezumi had become the perfect image of his teenage self lecturing Shion on the harsh realities of life outside of No. 6. His voice was low and serious and his eyes were cold and steely again, just as they had been when they first met. A wave of fear came over Shion: that he had misjudged, and that Nezumi hadn’t changed after all, only fooled Shion with an imitation of sincerity. Opening himself up had been an even greater error than he’d originally thought. But as the meaning of Nezumi’s words came into focus, his fear was displaced by another set of memories.

_Don’t look down on me._

_I want to be your equal._

_I want to know the truth._

Shion understood that Nezumi was forcing him to confront reality. And he was right: Shion hadn’t needed him. The story Shion had told himself was that eight years’ separation from Nezumi had broken him, but that wasn’t exactly true. The work might have irrevocably changed him, but Shion had picked up the pieces of his life and moved on, managing to fit most of them back together again. Once his original task was complete, he had found a new path along which to move forward. The thing he had come to No. 5 to prove to himself—he had been capable of it from the beginning. He and Nezumi owed one another their lives several times over, but they didn’t need each other anymore.

“I came back because I was drawn to you.”

 _You were drawn to the old me!_ Shion wanted to shout it in Nezumi’s face. It was probably what his younger self would have done, clench his fists and raise his voice, and in doing so expose his childish weaknesses. He could do better than that now. Shion had learned to wield his words the same way Nezumi did his knife, to persuade and manipulate and threaten. He wasn’t proud of it, but his trial in the political world had provided him a weapon he could fight back with.

Until Nezumi disarmed him, winding their fingers together and speaking words Shion wanted desperately to believe were true.

_“You’re still Shion.”_

There had been a moment, over two years ago, when Shion had looked into the mirror and realized he didn’t know who he was anymore. Eight long years of conflict and bargaining and compromise had finally led to the establishment of No. 6’s first democratically elected City Council, and the finish line was in sight; all that remained was to ensure that the transfer of power from the Restructural Committee to the new government would be a peaceful one. Shion had been involved in many of the projects that had brought functional infrastructure to the West Block, and as a result had become very popular there. There had been a significant faction who wanted him on the City Council, but Shion refused to run. It felt a little cowardly, like he was giving up; but as Shion looked at who he had become, he realized that he didn’t trust that person with power anymore—and that scared him more than anything.

Shion was terrified of the monster he had seen in the mirror that day. Leaving No. 6 had been, in part, an attempt to escape from it, to shake it off and leave it far behind him. He had spent the better part of two years trying to find himself again; and while he had become a person he could live with, Shion wasn’t sure that what he saw in the mirror was a person he recognized. But if Nezumi still recognized him, then he was still Shion.

Something which had been grinding around in his mind settled into place with a satisfying click.

 _“I’m still drawn to you.”_ There were tears running down Nezumi’s face as he said the words. The only other time he had ever seen Nezumi cry was in the depths of the Correctional Facility; the memory burned hot and painful in Shion’s mind, banishing any thought of self-pity.

 _I’m sorry, Nezumi_. _I must have hurt you pretty badly, to make you cry like that._

Shion did the only thing he could think of at the moment. He threw himself at Nezumi, so determined to make the tears disappear that he overbalanced and both of them landed unceremoniously on the bed, limbs a tangled mess.

What was this feeling? Safety? Comfort? Shion didn’t have the vocabulary to describe it. The only words that felt right were ones of gratitude.

_Thank you for finding me._

Shion knew that he had flown too close to the sun, and that he would soon be plummeting into the sea—Nezumi was somehow both fire and water to him, bright and deep, dangerous and unknowable—but it didn’t bother him in this moment. Nezumi still bore a faint scar from the bullet wound that had nearly killed him, but what preoccupied Shion’s mind as he rested his head against his chest was the steady beating of his heart against his cheek. The scar was evidence that he had survived his past; his heartbeat was proof that he was alive in the present.

 _As long as this heart continues to beat,_ Shion thought, _I can endure anything._

* * *

 Shion awoke with Nezumi draped across his chest and the handheld communication device on his nightstand glowing with message notifications. The sun was high and bright in the far window; it was already late morning. The messages were probably from his department head reminding him about the lesson plans he needed to submit for the next week—the ones he had completely forgotten about until now. Shion rubbed his temples; finishing them would probably take up his whole afternoon.

Nezumi shifted slightly in his sleep, his breathing soft and even. Of all the moments Shion had attempted to imprint permanently in his memory, this might have been the one he held most dear: the warm weight of Nezumi’s body on his, the way his bangs fell around his face, the firm muscles of his back under Shion’s fingertips. There would be plenty of time for lesson plans later; Shion wasn’t going to let go of this for anything.

Stroking Nezumi’s hair lightly, so as not to disturb him, Shion wondered what his life had been like in the years they had spent apart. Did he sleep this peacefully alone out in the open under the stars? How had he survived in the lifeless badlands? Had he ever once looked back? Even about his life before they met, Shion knew very little. Nezumi used to accuse him of being greedy and presumptuous when Shion asked about his past, but it had always been more than entitled curiosity. Shion wanted to know about Nezumi because Nezumi was a person he cared about—deeply—but Nezumi seemed determined to keep himself a secret. He was a strange person in that way. Most people were desperate to be understood, in Shion’s experience.

Nezumi began to stir, stretching one arm across Shion’s body and lifting his head off his chest. His eyes found Shion’s and he smiled drowsily. “G’morning.”

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Shion replied, brushing the hair out of Nezumi’s face.

Nezumi drew the back of his hand up to his forehead in a melodramatic affectation of distress. “How can I be Sleeping Beauty if I’m awake, yet no prince has kissed me?”

Shion rolled his eyes, smiling in spite of himself, and bent his head toward Nezumi so he could lick leisurely kisses into his mouth.

Nezumi made a pleased noise somewhere between a hum and a growl. “You’re a quick study,” he said. “You have to be careful, though. You might get me worked up again.”

The temptation was a potent one, but Shion managed to it push aside. “I don’t think I have time for that. I have a lot of work to catch up on today.”

Fortunately, Nezumi didn’t seem too put-off by this. “Fair enough,” he said, nestling his head into Shion’s collarbone and in doing so pulling an old but still crystalline memory to the forefront of Shion’s mind.

“Nezumi?”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember the day we first met?”

“Vividly.”

“You fell asleep on top of me then, too.”

Nezumi was silent and still, save the rise and fall of his breath. Shion almost began to wonder if he had fallen asleep again, when he realized that Nezumi had taken Shion’s hand in his and was playing with his fingers.

“I was surprised when I woke up, that you had let me stay like that all night.” Shion couldn’t see Nezumi’s face but could hear the smile in his voice. “If it had been the other way around I would’ve pushed you off.”

The thought had simply never occurred to Shion, and he told Nezumi so. “You move around in your sleep more than I do, though,” Shion mused.

Nezumi laughed. “Yes, because that’s what I was talking about.”

“You didn’t move around last night.” Shion had become a light sleeper in his twenties, and any movement would have woken him.

“Are we doing pointless observations again?” Nezumi asked, drily.

“Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

“No, don’t hold back for my sake. It fills me with a lovely nostalgia.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Nezumi drawled.

It was definitely sarcasm. “It’s not too late for me to push you off,” Shion said.

Nezumi waved the hand that wasn’t still tangled with Shion’s. “Empty threat.”

Shion might regret the extent to which time and experience had corrupted him, but he did not miss the near-constant ineptitude he had once felt in Nezumi's presence; he greatly preferred being able to spar with him on equal footing. He slid himself out from under Nezumi and sat up at the edge of the bed, smirking at the shock on Nezumi’s face. Nezumi pulled himself up to sitting, countenance grumpy but eyes flashing with mirth.

“You win,” he said. “Okay? I’ll cut back on the sarcasm.”

“But it fills me with such a lovely nostalgia—hey!”

Nezumi had grabbed Shion around the waist and pulled him backward, so that his thighs bracketed Shion’s hips and Shion’s back was pressed into his chest as he leaned back against the wall.

“Not going to fight back?”

Shion nestled closer into Nezumi. “Why would I?”

He heard Nezumi laugh softly before his lips found Shion’s again. This kiss was light and sweet and short, but Shion enjoyed it just as much as the rest. This was another moment to remember, Shion decided, with Nezumi’s arms around him, his eyes shut and a contented smile on his face. He rested the side of his head against Nezumi’s and closed his own eyes. There was something nagging at the back of Shion’s mind, something more complex and less defined than anxiety over overdue lesson plans, but he managed to push it away.

Eventually Nezumi mentioned something about coffee and breakfast, and Shion agreed. As he watched Nezumi stand up and stretch, the muscles of his back and shoulders flexing and tautening mesmerizingly under his skin, a quiet but persistent voice asked him whether he really deserved moments like these—whether he had the right to be this happy. It was easy to ignore when Nezumi was near; its volume tended to increase when he wasn’t.

Shion scrolled through the messages on his tablet computer. There were three reminders from his department head about the observation schedule for the next week, and one message from Anna asking if he wanted help with the lesson plans. He acknowledged that he had received the notices and replied to Anna’s offer with a grateful “yes.” Almost immediately, the tablet pinged with a video chat request. Shion accepted the call, and an image of Matty’s face appeared, his chubby hand partially covering the camera so that half the screen was black. Shion smiled and waved at Matty, who waved happily in return.

“Matty, does your mama know that you’re playing with her computer?”

“Shion?” he heard Anna’s muffled voice say.

Matty’s giggling face disappeared as Anna tugged her tablet away from him. Her vibrant hair was tied up into a messy pile on the top of her head and she was wearing a t-shirt stained with paint. “Sorry about that,” she said. “He must have seen your picture and poked at it.”

“That’s okay,” Shion said, grinning.

“I was about to email you anyway. Hold on.” Anna put the squirming toddler down. “Matty, go find Papa.” The sound of Matty’s babbling faded away as he pattered off to find Nick. Anna watched him go with a tired smile on her face.

“So, about the lesson plans for this week,” she said, immediately businesslike. “Have you started them?”

“No,” Shion admitted.

Anna gave him same the tired but affectionate smile she had just given her son. “I’ll send you mine. I just had to modify what I did last year. It’s probably better that we do similar lessons, anyway.”

“Thank you,” he said, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Not a problem.”

Nezumi placed a mug of coffee next to him, his hand on Shion’s shoulder. Anna’s eyes widened with mischief, but she just told Shion to let her know if he had questions and signed off.

“Who was that?” Nezumi asked, sitting down next to Shion with his own cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Anna,” Shion told him, opening the document she had just sent him. It was a complete set of lessons for the week, including comments on what had failed and succeeded the previous year in Anna’s typical meticulous language; Shion often thought that her lesson plans resembled field notes more than anything else. “She’s just saved me a lot of time.”

“Are you just planning on working all day?”

Shion shrugged. “I’m planning on working until I’m done. It should only take me a few hours.” He flashed Nezumi an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I won’t be very entertaining today.”

“I am more than capable of amusing myself,” Nezumi replied mildly. “I didn’t come here to completely disrupt your life.”

Shion bit back bitter laughter. He believed that Nezumi hadn’t intended to upset his world, but of course that was exactly what had happened. “I suppose it would be a kind of payback if you had,” he said, instead.

Nezumi laughed. “You were a greater burden to me then than I am to you now.”

“Maybe,” Shion couldn’t stop himself from saying. “Believe it or not, I was trying not to be an imposition.”

“‘Try’ being the operative word.”

“You were more than capable of kicking me out, and you didn’t,” Shion reminded him.

Nezumi’s expression softened. “I explained it to you, didn’t I? I owed you a debt.”

Shion wanted to ask what the debt that he currently owed Nezumi was, but stayed silent. He remembered what Nezumi had explained back then very well. _People can save other people_ . _You were the only one that taught me that._ But there was nothing to be saved from now; the tyranny of No. 6 had long since faded from their lives. Shion was living a quiet life in a peaceful city, and Nezumi had returned willingly, rather than out of distress or desperation.

“I don’t think we owe each other anything, anymore,” Shion said, at length.

“No,” Nezumi said slowly. “I suppose not.”

Shion opted to discontinue this course of conversation. “What do you plan to do this afternoon?”

Nezumi gave Shion a look that told him that his evasion had been noticed, but he was apparently willing to gloss over it. “I’ll wander around a bit,” he said, shrugging.

Shion spread sheets of electronic paper across his desk, one for each day of the week, and settled down to begin reading through Anna’s plans.

Nezumi shrugged his jacket over his shoulders. “Very systematic, aren’t you?”

“It’s important to be organized,” Shion replied. His mind had already shifted its focus to the carbon cycle and the problem of how to most effectively teach it to a classroom of fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds itching for their upcoming summer vacation. He was so quickly engrossed in his notes that he barely noticed Nezumi place his hand on his shoulder before walking out the door. The ghost of the other man’s touch lingered long after he had left. Shion knew it was impossible, but he could still feel its warmth there hours later, when his work was finally finished.

Shion sat back in his chair, casting his gaze around the compact apartment. It was probably the same size as the underground room he had shared with Nezumi, but with almost none of the character. In frames on his desk were a portrait of his mother and a candid photo of Inukashi playing with Shionn; those, along with the small collection of books, were the only items in the apartment that held any sentimental value to him.

Every corner of the library vault, by contrast, had been drowning in memory. It would not have been difficult to preserve the room when plans were being drawn up for the aqueduct expansion project; but five years had passed since Nezumi’s departure, and Shion had not stepped a single foot in the place. It felt wrong, without Nezumi there. So Shion had salvaged the books—the only things of any objective value—and looked on as it was demolished. It was one entry among many on the list of decisions Shion had made that still made his stomach twist with regret and uncertainty. He wondered if Nezumi knew about it, and if he did, whether he was mad. It was unlikely, he told himself. Nezumi had left all of it behind, after all.

Today, there were telltale signs of another person in the apartment: two sets of dishes in the sink; a second damp towel hanging from the shower rod; a sturdy travel bag sitting next to the plain computer case Shion carried back and forth to school. Looking at the items brought a small smile to his face. Shion had never imagined sharing this place with anyone until now.

At one point, Shion had wanted nothing but to stand at Nezumi’s side. He had waited and hoped for the time to come when they would be reunited for good. But something—time? experience?—had forced him to realize that his dream was an impossible one, and that he needed to let it go for his own sake. He had tried, in starting his life over in No. 5, to unbind himself from the shackles of that fantasy, and nearly succeeded. Nezumi’s return had disrupted that process for Shion, but he would not allow it to be derailed completely. He had let Nezumi back into his heart, and the wounds that remained there were healing at last. The memories of the time they had spent together—then and now—would be enough to sustain him to the end of his days. What Shion felt for Nezumi was love and nothing less. It had finally made him strong enough to let him go.

* * *

Nezumi returned late in the afternoon with takeout and a bottle of one of the wines for which No. 5 was famous. They enjoyed their food in comfortable quietness, although the wine stayed untouched, as Shion didn’t own anything to open it with.

Nezumi settled on the couch with a book while Shion read through his emails. They were neither urgent nor interesting, so Shion soon shut his tablet down and joined Nezumi, sitting near enough to read over his shoulder. Nezumi smiled wryly but said nothing, only shifting the arm that had been draped across the back of the couch to wrap around Shion’s shoulders. They had spent many winter nights like this, huddled together—to share body heat, Nezumi had made clear—and noses buried in books, on occasion conversing quietly about what they were reading. Shion half expected Tsukiyo to crawl up onto his shoulder or Hamlet to poke his nose out of Nezumi’s pocket, although that was of course not possible; all of the mice had died years ago.

“I’m going to bed early tonight,” Shion said, stifling another yawn. He had slept better last night than he could remember in a long time, but he was still recovering from the restless nights previous. That was something he had noticed about getting older, that it took him longer to recover from perturbations to his routine than it had when he was young.

Nezumi didn’t look up from his book— _Persuasion_ , which Shion thought was odd, because he didn’t remember Nezumi liking that kind of novel—and only nodded, his eyes still racing across the page.

“Nezumi, I want to thank you. For everything.”

Nezumi turned toward Shion, his head tilted slightly in a wordless question. Shion leaned forward and placed his lips lightly on Nezumi’s.

Last night, Nezumi had reciprocated his kisses with immediate enthusiasm, his mouth warm and soft and inviting. Now, his whole body was perfectly still and his lips had all the warmth and tenderness of ice. Shion backed away. The senses he had developed in the West Block and honed on the Restructural Committee were warning him of danger.

“Shion.”

His instincts were correct. Nezumi’s eyes had become the exact cold silver of his knife and his words sharper than any blade.

“What did I say about farewell kisses?”

 

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Nezumi is a bard that multiclassed as a rogue early on in the campaign and kept leveling up his rogue stats until they maxed out and now is leveling up as a bard again. His real name is in druidic and that's why he never tells it to anyone. Shion is a cleric.

* * *

 

_Men at some time are masters of their fates:_

_The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,_

_But in ourselves…_

-William Shakespeare, _Julius Caesar_ , Act I

 

* * *

 

The arts district had grown and livened since Nezumi had last visited No. 5. The city had been built on the ruins of a much older one that had once been renowned for its arts, and its citizens seemed determined to continue the tradition. A few years ago, live theater and music had been limited to a smattering of coffeehouses on the seedier side of town; now, a grand concert hall and several small theaters lined the north bank of the river, and music and dance studios advertising lessons and performances were tucked into every available corner. Even on this lazy Sunday afternoon, the sounds of a dozen different rehearsals wafted through open windows and the steady shouting of a ballet instructor echoed down the street. Nezumi picked a place at random and let himself in.

All theatres, everywhere, had the same smell. Nezumi knew it was nothing more than paint, sawdust, and musty costumes, but the combination was somehow more than the sum of its parts. Nezumi lurked in the entrance as he watched a rather pimply Hamlet stride across the stage towards his Ophelia—a willowy adolescent in jeans and a tank top emblazoned with the word ‘freak’ in stylized red letters—in the midst of a scene Nezumi was intimately familiar with, as Shion and the mice had often requested it of him.

“…I did love you once.”

“Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.”

“You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it: I loved you not.”

Ophelia hung her head in despair. “I was the more deceived.”

A fair-skinned woman with short dark hair appeared from a partially hidden stage door. The lean physique of a marathoner was visible under her black outfit even in the darkness of the unlit house, although her age was inscrutable. “Can I help you?” she asked, polite and brisk.

Nezumi flashed her a winning smile that did not seem to impress her much. “Actually, I think that you can,” he said, worrying for the briefest moment that his persuasive abilities had dulled without his noticing in the years he had spent alone. Her coolness evaporated, however, as soon as he began asking about their company and the nearby theater scene.

“I’m sure our manager would be happy to talk to you. We’re not looking for actors at the moment, but he might make an exception if you impress him,” she said. Her eyes were a shade of gray similar to his own, he noticed, as they scanned him appraisingly. “I don’t suppose you have a resumé.”

He shook his head. “I’ve always just relied on my personal charms,” he said, attempting a seductive grin.

“Hmph,” she sniffed, one eyebrow raised. “Well, you can tell him that Rin sent you.”

“Is he here?”

She shook her head. “He’ll be here tomorrow. Our regular rehearsals are during the week.”

“Then who’s on stage?”

“A local student group we mentor.”

And sure enough, at that moment a director who looked not much older than one of Shion’s students began giving notes to the actors on stage, and they started again from Hamlet’s soliloquy.

“You know this one, I’m sure,” Rin said.

“Of course.” Anyone who had spent five minutes in the theater world—and most people who hadn’t—knew _Hamlet_. “I’ve only ever played Ophelia, though,” he admitted, with a sly smile.

She made the same ‘hmph’ sound as before and pursed her lips in amusement. “Funny,” she said. “I’ve only ever played Hamlet.”

After getting a few recommendations from Rin for other places seeking actors, Nezumi made his way up one of the grand hills south of the river that cut through the center of No. 5. Several bridges and pedestrian walkways spanned its expanse, including the only remnant of the city that had once stood here: an old stone bridge into which homes and shops had been built. The haphazard construction stood in stark contrast with the quaint neatness of the rest of the city, but Nezumi found the juxtaposition pleasing. From this vantage point he could see past the residential district to the verdant expanse of farmland that nourished the city, and beyond that, rolling hills dotted with the wind turbines that provided most of its power.

The events of past twenty-four hours played over and over again in his head as he watched the citizens of No. 5 moving throughout the streets. He knew it wasn’t entirely rational, but they had given him enough hope to begin thinking about making a life here.

_You’re giving up your freedom. You’re shackling yourself again. Is that really what you want?_

He had made his decision the moment he had woken up to the warm solidity of Shion’s body beneath his.

_I want to hold on to this._

There was an idea, indistinct but persistent, that had long tugged at the edges of Nezumi’s mind. It had been planted there by Shion over a decade ago, and now—finally—he could look at it directly: the possibility that attachment to others was more than just a hindrance to survival.

Shion had walked willingly through the hell that was the Correctional Facility because of nothing more or less than an unconditional love for his friend. Nezumi’s resolve—to outlive No. 6, or least to die with it—fueled by vengeance and hatred, seemed thin by comparison. There was more to it than that, though. Shion had not stopped moving, even after they had failed to save Safu. What was it he had said?

_“We'll live, and go back to that room together.”_

What had kept Shion moving forward that day was a hope for things he never even got in the end, Nezumi realized with a pang. Safu’s death was only partially Nezumi’s fault, although he had been forced to acknowledge that he never intended to save the girl. But Shion’s other desire—a future with Nezumi—he had been denied by Nezumi himself.

 _And yet you still managed to move forward, Shion?_  

Shion had anchored his heart to Nezumi’s, and rather than it fettering him, he had been able to draw a kind of power from their connection. It was a concept at odds with everything Nezumi knew about living and surviving. In returning to Shion he had hoped to find some explanation for it, yet it remained beyond his grasp.

Love was something Nezumi only knew about from books. Tragedy and loss and the folly of man—he had experienced all of that firsthand. But love? Love was a thing he had purposefully shunned. It only belonged in the books, he thought, to be experienced vicariously and emulated on the stage to sate the fantasies of fools. Loving someone meant being willing to put their life before your own. It was a thing not only unnecessary for survival, but an obstacle to it.

Shion didn’t think that way. Shion refused to sever his connections to other people. Nezumi had once believed it to be a form of weakness, and considered him foolish for it; he was beginning to perceive that it was a greater source of strength than any he himself possessed.

 _You have no purpose. You may as well be dead._ That was what that woman had said, all those years ago, when he told her he was living only for himself. He had dismissed her words and puzzled over them, and now their meaning was coming into focus. The aching emptiness that had gnawed at him was gone. There was something in his heart again.   

_This is my decision, my resolve._

A vivid image glimmered in his mind: a spool of string in his hands and a brightly colored kite dancing in the wind and cloudless sky.

_I will hold on to this._

* * *

“Do you ever think about going back?”

Shion looked up at Nezumi, his head tilted. “Huh?” 

“To No. 6.”

“Oh,” Shion said. Shion ran his fingers through his hair. “Mom keeps asking me to visit, but I don’t really want to risk being recognized.”

“No, I mean permanently. Do you intend to live there again?”

“Only if I have to. There’s not a whole lot left for me there,” Shion said, making a brave attempt at a smile.

Shion was tugging at his bangs again, and Nezumi chose to let the subject drop; he was not entirely sure why he had asked the question in the first place. He picked a book at random and dropped onto the couch, watching Shion’s face shift back into neutrality as he read through something on his computer.

The book was one Nezumi had only read once, if he had finished it at all. He thought it a little odd that it was even there—most of the books on the shelf he recognized as Shion’s personal favorites, and the rest as his own, but he didn’t remember either of them having any particular fondness for Austen. The problem with her novels, in Nezumi’s opinion, was that her heroines always got happy endings. Nezumi greatly preferred tragedies, as they made for more honest reflections of reality; but rather than exchanging this book for one of the more familiar titles on the shelf, he found himself continuing to turn its pages. Soon Shion curled up next to him, leaning into Nezumi’s side to read along. Feeling more than a little triumphant, Nezumi let his arm fall around Shion’s shoulders, and Shion only shifted closer, already absorbed in the novel in Nezumi’s lap.

A warm silence fell over the room as the sun lowered itself in the sky, interrupted only by the shuffling of pages and Shion’s occasional yawns. Shadows began to stretch across the floor, and Shion said something which Nezumi, caught up in the drama of the story, barely registered.

“Nezumi, I want to thank you. For everything.” There was a tired smile on his face and quiet resignation in his eyes. 

 _For everything?_  

Shion pressed the lightest and softest of kisses to Nezumi’s lips.

_No._

Every fiber of him rebelled against it.

_Not again._

Nezumi could remember the last time Shion had done this with painful clarity. Shion had been about to walk—knowingly, foolishly—straight into the open arms of death. The same tempest that had welled up inside his teenage self returned in full force, one fueled by frustration and disappointment and something with the bitter taste of sadness. Hadn’t he finally managed to get through to Shion? Hadn’t Shion shown that he was willing to be open with Nezumi again? 

_This wasn’t supposed to be goodbye._

But Nezumi was still ruled by his old habits and instincts, and what overcame him as he confronted Shion was simply cold, base fury.

Shion backed away from Nezumi, fear splashed across his face; and for the briefest instant, his eyes flashed with the intent to fight rather than flee. But in the next moment the fight had drained out of him, leaving behind nothing but the blank expression Nezumi had seen far too much of in the days since his return.

Shion gave a weary sigh. “Sorry.”

“Why?”

Shion met Nezumi’s gaze with silent equanimity.

“Is this your answer?”

Shion shook his head.

Nezumi stepped closer, taking advantage of the few centimeters he still held over the other man. “Shion, tell me what you want.”

Shion shook his head again and stepped away. “This isn’t about what I want.”

“Then what the fuck is it about?”

Shion set his jaw and looked Nezumi in the eye, his voice quiet but firm. “You and I are different. You’re a wanderer, and I put down roots. I can’t go with you, and I won’t let you to shackle yourself to me. It’s like you said, Nezumi. Incompatible people can’t live together.”

“Are you telling me to leave?” Nezumi demanded, the fervor of his anger temporarily anesthetizing the sharp wound Shion’s words had dealt somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

“I know better than to try to control you.” Shion’s gaze wavered. He hung his head and brought his hand up to his chest. “You will always be welcome here. But I won’t ask you to stay,” he said, softly.

“I’m not staying if you don’t want me here. If you want me to stay, you have to ask me to stay. Otherwise I’m leaving.”

The calm acceptance in Shion’s sigh pierced Nezumi’s heart before his words even had the chance.

“Okay.”

_No!_

“Shion, don’t bullshit me.”

 _Don’t let me go!_  

“I’m not,” Shion said, evenly. “You’re the one who can’t see it. We’re not meant to stay together.”

“We’re not star-crossed teenage lovers. There are no fates conspiring to keep us apart.”

Shion just stared blankly at him, the last traces of light in his eyes flickering away.

“I want an answer, Shion.”

“And I’ve given you my answer.”

After all this time, Shion was going to let Nezumi slip through his fingers like water in an open palm. He wasn’t even attempting to put up a fight—and that infuriated Nezumi more than anything.   

“You’re a coward,” he snarled.

Shion’s eyes sparked dangerously.

“A coward?” he repeated, slowly, as if experimenting with the feel of the word on his tongue. “Is that really what you think of me?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

Shion’s postured stiffened as he fixed Nezumi with steely, soulless eyes. “Nezumi?”

“What?”

_“Get out.”_

Shion articulated each word with fatal precision, targeting every nerve in Nezumi’s body at once.

“What’s the matter? Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?” Shion asked, in a low, mocking tone that Nezumi recognized all too well. It was a weapon he could wield as deftly as his knife; but to hear Shion use it was unnatural and sickening.

Nezumi gritted his teeth. “You know damn well it isn’t.”

“You said you wanted an answer, and I gave you one.” A nasty smile was dancing around Shion’s lips. “So what’s the problem?”

Nezumi tightened his fingers around Shion’s wrist with a bruising grip. “I don’t want to play games,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“Oh, is that what we were doing?” Shion asked lightly, completely unfazed. “I didn’t realize. So that just now was only funny name-calling, was it? Or had we not started playing yet?”

“Damn it, Shion, you’re not a coward, okay? So cut this shit out.”

“Changed your mind pretty quickly, didn’t you? Is that part of the game, too, or…?”

“Stop fucking with me!”

Shion let out an awful, chilling laugh. “Oh, but you seemed to enjoy it when I did that last night—” 

“Shut up!” Nezumi yelled, grabbing Shion by the collar.

Shion raised a single eyebrow in reply, supremely unimpressed.

Nezumi backed away, shaking his head. “What happened to you?” he asked, his anger fading and dread taking its place.

_Is this your true form, Shion?_

_Is this really what you hold in your heart?_

Shion’s eyes widened, and the life returned to them: the monster was gone. Shion collapsed onto the couch and hung his head in defeat. “I’m sorry, Nezumi,” he said, in his usual, gentle tone. “You don’t have to leave yet.”

Nezumi sat down next to him. “I don’t remember teaching you how to do that,” he said, with a casual wave of his arm.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I learned how to do that on my own,” Shion snapped. He shook himself and sighed. “Sorry,” he repeated, pressing his palms to his eyes and muttering something which Nezumi couldn’t hear.

“Shion?” Nezumi reached for him, but Shion stood up too quickly, declaring that he was going to bed.

* * *

Shion stood before him as the exact image of his sixteen-year-old self: an innocent, naïve child, smiling serenely up into Nezumi’s face. Nezumi reached out to grasp him, and he couldn’t—Shion kept shifting away, like he was made out of smoke. All the words he tried to speak left this mouth as silence. Shion tilted his head, smiling sweetly, as if trying to figure out what it was Nezumi was trying to say.

_Don’t let me go!_

Shion bent down to pick something up at his feet. They were standing at the edge of a spring, he realized, one that created a small oasis in the middle of some lifeless desert, and the thing Shion had picked up was a small, smooth stone. He held it out towards Nezumi with both hands, and Nezumi grasped for it; but the moment he closed his hand around it it fell through his fingers, and Shion had begun walking away. He tried to cry after Shion’s retreating back but his voice strangled in his throat, and instead of air his lungs filled with liquid as he was dragged down into the icy water—

Nezumi woke to the sound of a door sliding shut and a tangle of blankets covering his face. It took him a moment to recall how he had fallen asleep on the couch, and Shion had gone to sleep in his own bed, facing the wall away from Nezumi. Except now Shion’s bed was empty, because he was outside on the balcony again, staring up at the sky. He seemed unsurprised when Nezumi stepped out to join him, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye before turning his gaze back up to the waxing moon.

“I don’t know how to tell the difference,” Shion admitted. 

“What?”

Shion smiled faintly, still not looking at Nezumi. “Between the different types of kisses.”

Something twisted painfully in Nezumi’s side.

“It’s the eyes,” he explained, leaning against the railing next to Shion.

“Huh?” 

“You were smiling, but your eyes looked sad.” Nezumi let his shoulder brush against Shion’s. “That makes it a farewell kiss,” he said, softly.

“Oh.” Shion turned to look at Nezumi, his mouth bent into a small frown. “I wasn’t asking you to leave,” he said. “I wanted to tell you that I’ll be okay with whatever you decide to do.”

“I’ve already told you what I’ve decided. I’m asking you what you want.” 

Shion sighed. “I want you by my side more than I know how to explain, Nezumi. But I couldn’t live with myself if I had you at the expense of your happiness.”

“You don’t get to tell me what makes me happy, Shion,” Nezumi said, his voice low.

“You’re right,” Shion said, quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Nezumi pressed his hand into Shion’s, and Shion didn’t resist as he wove their fingers together. “Don’t you think you’ve earned the right to prioritize your own happiness?”

“Of course not.” Shion’s features twisted into a pained smile. “I have too much to atone for.”

“Then when will you be done ‘atoning’?”

Shion just frowned at him. The answer to his question seemed to hang in the air between the rest of Shion’s unspoken words: _never._

“So you’re just going to keep punishing yourself until you die? That’s your plan?”

Shion looked down at his hands in silence.

Nezumi had put his past behind him; he had let everything go, released it all into the wind and sky. Shion hadn’t. Shion was still carrying all of it with him. He was going to drag its weight behind him until his bones cracked and exhaustion stole his soul away.

“I can’t watch you do that to yourself,” Nezumi told him.

“Then don’t watch,” Shion spat, his words edged with bitterness. The emotion drained away as quickly as it had appeared. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Of course you did. Don’t lie to yourself.”

“No!” For the first time, there was something like desperation in Shion’s voice. “No, I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Shion’s voice weakened. “But I can’t ask you to stay.”

“I’m not going to wait here in limbo until you make a real decision, Shion.”

“You made me wait _ten fucking years!"_

Shion turned on Nezumi, fists clenched and face flushed with an anger suppressed too long.

“You showed up here telling some bullshit story about being drawn to me when you were really just tired of being on your own, assuming that I would still be pining after you like the infatuated child you left behind. I’m not a toy you get to play with whenever you please and then throw away when you get bored. I _loved_ you, Nezumi. There was no way you didn’t know it.” Shion ran his hand through his hair and some of the tension dropped out of his body, but the bitter current of anger remained in his voice. “I understand why you needed to leave, okay? But you left without a backwards glance, like it was somehow easy for you. You can’t return after all this time claiming that you want to stay with me for good and expect me to believe you. I can’t trust you not to leave me behind again,” he finished, deflating slightly.

Nezumi leaned back onto the balcony railing. “Feel better now?” he asked, coolly.

Shion sighed. “Yes,” he said, shoulders slumping and arms falling limply to his sides. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Nezumi replied with a casual wave of his hand. “I quite enjoyed it.”

“What?” Shion asked, more tired than combative.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what was going on in that little head of yours. It was nice of you to tell me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t mean it? Don’t bullshit me, Shion. You’re still not a good enough actor to lie that convincingly.”

Shion did not seem to have a rebuttal for this. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, frowning, like his head hurt.

“Can I explain something?”

Shion just shrugged.

“I did not return because I was bored and I did not come here to toy with you.”

“Okay.”

“It wasn’t that I was tired of being alone. It was that I realized I was missing something important, and when I was trying to figure out what it was, all I could think of was you.”

Nezumi put his hand on the side of Shion’s face, wiping away the tears that had appeared there with his thumb. Shion closed his eyes and grimaced.

“I want to stay with you, Shion. I made you a vow and I intend to keep it.”

Shion stepped away, shaking his head. Nezumi’s arm fell heavily to his side.

“That wasn’t what you promised. You only said you would stop by to see who I had become. Well, this is it,” Shion said, opening his palms and smiling sadly. “You’ve fulfilled your promise. You’re free.”

Nezumi’s heart sank lower and lower as he searched for words that could reach Shion but found himself clasping at empty silence.

“You tried to tell me, didn’t you? Attachment to another person is a dangerous burden. It puts your survival at risk. You were right.” Shion looked up at Nezumi with a gentle, awful smile. “I should have listened.”

Nezumi tried to cry out to him, but his voice strangled in his throat. 

“I can’t tell you what to do, but I will make a request.” Shion’s eyes and voice both lowered. “You will always have my heart, Nezumi. Please treat it mercifully.”

Shion shut the door behind him with a quiet snap _._

 

* * *

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: handholding ahead

_And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—_

_And sore must be the storm—_

_That could abash the little Bird_

_That kept so many warm—_

-Emily Dickinson, _‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Shion woke up alone and with a sharp pain in his temples that pulsed in sync with the shrill tones of his alarm. Silencing the device, he went into the bathroom to search for the small bottle of ibuprofen he kept in his small medicine cabinet. As he tossed the red pills into his mouth and confronted the red-eyed image in the mirror, the memories of the previous night washed over him in nauseating waves.

Shion had opened his eyes wide to the abomination that had been No. 6, and rather than look away or seek its destruction, had chosen to change it. He had fought his battles in many forms; he had compromised and stumbled and failed, over and over again; and still, he had managed to drag himself out of bed each day and face every new challenge head-on. He had refused to stop moving forward; he had resolved to see his work through to the end, no matter how difficult. 

_“You’re a coward.”_

Nezumi’s words had touched a very sensitive nerve with Shion because he knew in his heart they were true. Leaving No. 6 had been an act of cowardice. He had not had the courage to look inside himself to examine the monster that resided there; rather than fighting it, he had let himself run away.

Shion stared at his face, the red scar burning brightly against its pallor under the fluorescent light of the bathroom. He hadn’t seen it in two years, the monster in the mirror. He had hoped to leave it behind in No. 6, but it was evidently too powerful to suppress completely and too intrinsic to cut away. He hadn’t wanted Nezumi to see it. Except—of course—Nezumi had seen it long before Shion had.

Nezumi was right. Nezumi was always right, in the end. 

Rubbing aching temples, Shion cast his gaze around the sparse apartment. Nezumi’s travel bag was in the same place it had been last night, apparently untouched. Presumably he still had the spare key, too, as Shion could not find it anywhere.

That was enough. Nezumi hadn’t left yet. There was still time to say a proper goodbye. 

From the moment of his return, Shion had been sure that Nezumi would disappear sooner rather than later. He had not expected Nezumi to ask to stay; and even now, he could not convince himself that was what Nezumi truly wanted. Shion certainly desired it, more deeply than he could remember desiring anything before: Nezumi was his most important, most precious person, and he felt that they remained connected to each other more closely than to anyone else, even after all these years. But he also knew Nezumi, albeit not as well as he wished he did—and while he had never been able to grasp who or what Nezumi truly was, he understood the shapes and forms he took. Nezumi wasn’t just _like_ the wind to Shion; he _was_ the wind, ephemeral and powerful and unable to be contained by human hands. Shion would not dare attempt it, no matter how deep his own desires ran. 

Shion slapped his hands over his eyes and let the lingering sting bring him back into the present. He had work to do today. His students were counting on him—and on top of that, there was a team from the university coming to observe his experimental curriculum lessons all week. Shion often found teaching to be difficult and stressful; but unlike his previous work, he found that rather than bringing out the worst of him, his students induced him to strive for his best self. He never feared the monster would appear when he was working with children. That was a large part of the reason he had chosen this career.

_Is this a kind of running away, too?_

Shion shook himself again. It didn’t matter. He needed to shut all of it away, at least for the moment. It was something that came all too easily to him by now, the shutting away.

* * *

Maya and Carina were already waiting by Shion’s desk when he walked into his classroom, Maya wearing a wicked grin on her face and Carina looking somewhat put-upon.

“Good morning,” he said, with a slightly wary smile. 

“Good morning. Here,” Maya said, shoving what looked like a piece of homework into his hands.

“What is this? There isn’t anything due for today…”

“You said we could get extra credit if we wrote a two-page report on our kites. So we wrote one,” Maya said, matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Well, I guess I did say that,” Shion laughed. “But you don’t need the extra credit.” 

“I don’t, but Cara does,” Maya said, pointing her thumb at Carina, whose face flushed with embarrassment. 

“‘Cara’?”

“It’s my new nickname for her. My grandmother told me it means ‘beloved.’ Isn’t it cute?” she sang, wrapping her arms around her friend’s elbow and pulling her close.

Carina’s face turned from pink to red. “I told her we should have asked permission first,” she said, embarrassed in the way that only fifteen-year-olds ever seemed to manage to be embarrassed.

“We’re asking for permission now, aren’t we?” Maya said, grinning widely. “I did most of the writing and she did all of the illustrations. Since we worked on it together, we can both get extra credit, right?”

“Sure,” Shion said, looking over the pages they had turned in. It would not affect Maya’s grade at all, as she already had the highest possible marks in the class, but he thought it was kind of her to help her friend, who struggled somewhat more with the subject. Dividing the work the way they had, giving Carina the chance to express her understanding through a series of remarkably detailed technical drawings instead of in words, drew precisely on the quieter girl’s strengths. Shion was impressed with them both, and he told them so.

“See?” Maya said, turning to Carina and laughing at her. “Thanks, Mr. Shion.”

“Thank you Mr. Shion,” Carina said, her tone subdued but somewhat more sincere than Maya’s. The pair went to their usual seats in the front row, Maya limping slightly.

Shion lowered his voice, in order not to attract the attention of the other students. “Is your leg okay?” 

She nodded, scowling. “It’s my spare prosthetic. I have to wear it while my regular one gets adjusted. It’s heavier because it’s not the special alloy and walking with it feels weird.” 

Maya’s parents had told him at the beginning of the school year that Maya had lost part of her right leg to cancer when she was young. Thanks to advancements in immunotherapy that had been made over the past decade, however, her health was no longer in danger, and her advanced bionic prosthetic made her capable of any physical activity any other child could do. Shion wasn’t sure that all of her classmates were even aware of it. “Her leg does have a battery that she forgets to charge,” Maya’s mother had told him, rolling her eyes. And indeed, Shion had noticed that she often sat in the desk nearest the wall socket so that she could surreptitiously plug in the prosthetic.

Shion was fairly certain that had she been an elite in the old No. 6, Maya would not have lost her leg. No. 6 had made far more medical advancements than the other city-states in the previous few decades, for the express benefit of those who—like Shion and Safu—had been identified as superior in some way. It had become clear to Shion, however, upon reviewing the medical research left behind after the destruction of the Correctional Facility, that what Safu had told him was true: No. 6’s medical progress had come in large part at the cost of decades of unethical human experimentation.

Those were the sorts of dilemmas he had faced in the immediate aftermath of the destruction of the old No. 6. Corruption and secrecy ran deep in the heart of the city, so much so that it took several years for Shion to untangle it all. While he told himself that utilizing the data from that research, no matter how it had initially been acquired, was in the best interest of all the citizens, and that it was better to adhere to their policy of full transparency than to destroy or conceal information about the old regime, remembering the decisions he had made still left him unsettled and nauseous with guilt.

Of course, if she had been born in the West Block, Maya would almost certainly have died. There was that to consider, too.

But right now there was a classroom full of innocent children before him—mostly innocent, he amended, as he stopped two students from pouring the contents of their friend’s water bottle down the back of his shirt—to whom he owed the best version of himself. He had watched his students grow and mature over the course of the school year; he had seen them help and support each other; and on occasion, he had even experienced the joy of a student’s face lit up with sudden understanding after an extended struggle with a particularly difficult concept. He had also watched them fail to treat each other with kindness and empathy, but they were still young and malleable, and their behavior could be corrected and changed in a way that—Shion had learned through painful experience—adults’ could not.

Shion’s students filled him with hope. He was grateful to them for it.

* * *

“So you’re hiding in here after all,” Anna said, sweeping through the doorway at lunchtime. Her outfit appeared unusually muted today, until Shion realized that the blue and white pattern on her dress was comprised of chemical structures and small models of carbon dioxide dangled from her ears. “Do you mind if I eat lunch with you?”

Shion smiled, moving the items on his desk aside so they could sit face to face and steeling himself for Anna’s often unrelenting inquisitiveness.

“I know it isn’t my business,” Anna said. “And you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to…”

Shion grinned. “I’m waiting for the ‘but.’”

“…But you know it is the nature of a scientist to be curious,” Anna said, leaning forward, her eyes bright. 

“Curious about what?”

Anna rolled her eyes. “The tall dark stranger you brought to the shop on Friday. Your ‘old friend.’”

He sighed. “It’s a long story. And not a very pleasant one, to be honest.”

“Well, if you’re willing to tell me, I want to hear it.”

Shion did the best he could. His fateful meeting of Nezumi when they were twelve, and how their lives had intertwined again four years later; how the brief months they spent living together had changed his understanding of the world so completely; and, as concisely as possible, about Safu, Elyurias and the Correctional Facility.

“Nezumi left No. 6,” Shion said, at the end of his recitation. “And I stayed behind to help the city rebuild. He promised he would return one day, and now he has.”

Anna had grown uncharacteristically quiet as he spoke.

“I know it sounds unbelievable,” Shion said, running his hand through his hair.

She shook her head, slowly. “It isn’t unbelievable,” she said.

“Really?”

Anna laughed at him. “It’s extraordinary, certainly. But to be honest, I’m not all that surprised. I knew there had to be a reason why you never talked about your life in No. 6. There had been awful rumors about that city for years before the walls came down. I wouldn’t have guessed that you had helped rebuild it, though.” She laughed again. “You didn’t put that on your CV.”

“I probably shouldn’t have left,” Shion said. “I should probably have stayed to help maintain the new system we had built, but after all that time, I was just so…”

“Burnt out?” Anna suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Shion nodded, relieved that she seemed to understand.

“And you were waiting for your friend to return the whole time.”

“Well, yeah.” Shion ran his fingers through his hair. “The old No. 6 had taken everything away from him. I wanted to show him a better vision of the future. I wanted him to see that humanity was capable of more."

“But he only returned a few days ago.”

“Sort of,” Shion said, feeling sheepish. “He actually showed up in No. 6 several weeks ago, but I wasn’t there, and it took him a while to find me.”

“Why didn’t you tell him where you were?”

“Because I didn’t know if I wanted to see him again—if I wanted him to know me like this.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with you now?”

“I’m not the same person I was when he left.”

“You’re not the same person you were when you were sixteen?” She laughed. “I have news for you, Shion, most of us aren’t.”

“Yes, but…” Shion hesitated. “I didn’t change for the better.”

Anna looked skeptical. “Is that what he told you?”

Shion shook his head. “He told me he wants to stay with me.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

Anna tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because I’m the sort of person who stays in one place, and he’s a wanderer. I would like to be together, but his staying with me would require sacrificing his freedom, and I can’t ask that of him.”

“But he’s the one offering to stay…?”

“I know!” Shion ran his hand through his hair. “That’s why I don’t know what to do.”

Anna looked at him with a thoughtful smile on her face, resting her chin on her hand.

“I don’t think you’re the sort of person who’s satisfied by staying in place, either,” she said.

“What do you mean?” 

“Look, Shion. I’m not going to tell you that your talents are being wasted in this job, because they aren’t—you’re a good teacher, and your students adore you. But I could tell from the beginning that you wouldn’t last here forever, and now I think I know why. You’re itching to do work on a larger scale than this. Aren’t you?”

Shion shrugged. Anna was right, of course.

“I’m the same way, you know.” Anna smiled down at the sandwich in her hands. “I used to be a researcher, before I went into teaching.”

Shion hadn’t known this. “What was your field?”

“Environmental science. I was going to figure out how to fix the whole world,” she said, throwing her arms out, sandwich waving in one hand, “Or at least that’s what my goal was, when I was young. The region around No. 5 used to be famous for its beauty and fertility, you know, and ever since the city was established, its citizens have been working to restore this land. When I was at the university, I worked with a professor who led expeditions to the places on Earth where ecosystems were regenerating without human influence. We wanted to understand what nature was doing on its own so that we could emulate those processes here. It was incredibly productive work, and I loved doing it—getting to visit all those different parts of the world, studying the resilience of life, doing something that felt important and valuable…”

Anna’s eyes had gone a little distant, and the smile on her face was different than her usual one, filled with more wonder than kindness. It took only a moment, though, before it was replaced with a third type of smile, a private and nostalgic one.

“But I also love Nick,” she said. “And doing that work meant that we spent more time apart than together. Both of us wanted to have children, too, and there was no way we could do that if he was working twelve hour days at the bakery and I was on a different continent half the time. So I switched to a different career, one that still utilized my talents and had a positive impact on the world, but that also let me stay with Nick.” She laughed a little. “My professor was pretty annoyed, but as part of my deal with Nick, I still go on expeditions with her during breaks. I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to come with us this summer.”

“Really?” Shion said, excited by the prospect.

“Yeah,” she said, waving her hand, “But we can talk about that later. I’m not done being nosy and condescending.”

Shion laughed. “You’re not being either, but go ahead.”

“Do you want my advice?” Anna asked.

Shion nodded.

“Sometimes you make compromises for the people you love,” she said, grinning at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And if someone is willing to sacrifice something important to them to be with you, at the very least you should acknowledge it, even if you can’t accept it.”

Shion was silent for a moment while he turned her words over in his mind. “I’m an idiot,” he said, finally.

Anna shrugged. “Not in general, I would say.”

“But in this situation?”

Anna rolled her eyes, grinning. “This stuff is difficult, okay? Perfect relationships don’t fall from the sky. You build your relationships with other people. They’re like any other type of system, you know. They require maintenance.”

Shion could only give a tired sigh. He knew far too much about the building and maintenance of systems.

“You can’t blame yourself for not knowing what to do in a situation like this. After all, it sounds like you were rebuilding a city when you were supposed to be getting drunk at university parties and fooling around in the backs of cars like the rest of us.” She pulled one of Nick’s blueberry muffins out of her lunch bag and offered half of it to Shion. “You’re not an idiot. You just lack experience.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said, laughing at himself a little. It reminded him of something Nezumi had said to him once.

“I’m just saying,” she said, with a gentle eyeroll, “That one obstacle doesn’t make something impossible.”

Shion mulled it over as he bit into the buttery pastry. The path forward seemed no clearer than it had before; no solution had magically appeared before him; but somehow, he found himself more optimistic than he had allowed himself to feel in years. He and Nezumi were each intelligent and capable. They had done more difficult things than navigate the complexities of living together. It would require further thought.

Anna seemed to be thinking hard too, her usual sunny smile fading into a quiet thoughtfulness. “The two of you together would be unstoppable,” she said, all her usual levity gone.

“What do you mean?”

“You both seem like a very unique, special type of person—but you’re so different from each other—if you could manage to coexist…” Anna’s voice trailed away as her eyes went distant. “Well, it would be fascinating to see what you could do,” she said, shrugging.

Anna’s words surprised him, because he had never thought about it quite that way before. He hadn’t dared consider who he might become with Nezumi at his side. The idea had seemed too bright and dangerous. But maybe—just maybe—he could afford to look at it directly now.

The bell rang. Anna swore loudly and jumped up, hurrying out of his classroom. “I’m sorry, I forgot to set up the lab for Advanced Biology—see you later!”

Shion laughed as Anna and her thematically patterned dress disappeared out the door, a smile plastered to his face which he couldn’t quite shake off. A warm feeling spilled over him, one he couldn’t put a name to, one that felt vaguely familiar but that he couldn’t remember feeling for a long time.

There had been something locked away within him for years now—how many, he couldn’t quite say—and it was beginning to spread its wings again, like it had realized it wasn’t being contained anymore. Perhaps it should have frightened him, or made him wary; but whatever this thing was, it was not like the monster Shion knew also resided within him. It was powerful, but not malicious.

Was it called hope, this feeling? Shion wasn’t sure. Still, it brought a smile to his face, one that remained there until the end of the school day.

 

* * *

  

Nezumi spent the early hours of the morning wandering the nearly empty streets of No. 5. It was a relatively safe city, neither as crime-ridden as the old West Block nor patrolled by cold-eyed police like the old No. 6. Still, he was only comfortable in the darkness as long as his fingers remained wrapped around his knife. With every silent footfall, Shion’s words turned over and over again in his mind.

_“You will always have my heart. Please treat it mercifully.”_

More pieces of the puzzle that had so mystified Nezumi were working themselves into place. Nezumi understood what Shion’s words meant.

_“I love you, but you’re going to break my heart, so do it quickly.”_

Nezumi had not been blind to Shion’s feelings toward him in the past, and it seemed that time and distance had not managed to wear them away. But it was clear that Shion did not believe Nezumi would stay, and Nezumi did not know what could convince him. History was certainly not on his side; but that was the past, and there was nothing to be done about it. He was not sure how to counter the other argument Shion kept making, either—that Nezumi was a wanderer, not meant to stay in one place, and therefore not meant to be tied down by Shion. Because Nezumi did waver: he could feel the wind rising at his heels, pushing him out of this city and away from Shion. There was a significant piece of him that was strongly tempted to turn his back on everything and walk away again, to put Shion behind him with the rest of his past, for good.

The larger part of him, however, resisted the idea. Nezumi had wandered enough. He had finally thrown off the shackles of his past, and was now free to hold and shape his future with his own hands. Fate, nature, destiny—those things would only dictate the direction of his life if he allowed them to. Whatever it was that tied him to Shion was more powerful than the push and pull of the wind and the wilderness. Nezumi wouldn’t call it love, although the deepest parts of him suspected that to be its name. Whatever it was, he wasn’t prepared to let it go.

* * *

There was a man sitting on the street corner, slowly strumming a wide-bodied string instrument and humming a quiet, melancholy tune. He looked out of place, even here in the arts district, with long wild hair and slightly tattered, loose brown clothes. It was the lazy part of the afternoon, and he and Nezumi were the only people in the street. Nezumi let the man reach a natural cadence in his song before approaching him. His eyes were bright blue and his face looked youthful, in spite of his light gray hair. Surely it was not possible…

“It looks like you freed yourself after all,” the man said, smiling serenely.

“Do I know you?” Nezumi asked, more curious than wary, but wary all the same.

The man shrugged. “That depends more on you than me, doesn’t it? The better question is whether I know you.” 

“Do you?”

“I know you are a wanderer like me. I think I may even recall that you can dance like the wind and sing like the sky,” the man replied, his eyes twinkling.

It really was the bard from the West Block all those years ago.

“I’m honored to be remembered so,” Nezumi said, with a small bow.

“You don’t run into a person like that every day, do you?” He strummed a bright, open chord, which hung in the air for an unnaturally long time, and sang his next sentence against it, weaving his words around the pitches. “So tell me, young singer, did you ever find your wind?”

Nezumi grinned. “Yeah, I think I did.”

“Do you know where it will take you next? I think I speak for all my companions when I say we would be glad to have you travel with us.”

Nezumi shook his head. “It’s a tempting offer, but I think I have to decline it.”

The man looked a little surprised. “You are free, are you not? Why not follow where the wind takes you?”

Nezumi shrugged. “I did that for a while. But I think there might be something tethering me again,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning his gaze toward the clear blue expanse of the eastern sky.

“Well, there is one thing more powerful than the wind, after all,” said the bard, standing up and slinging his instrument over his shoulder.

“Which is what?”

The man just laughed, the strings of the instrument on his back resonating with the brightness in his voice. “You have a lot to learn, my child,” he called as he walked away.

Nezumi wasn’t sure why, but as he stood there, watching the bard’s retreating figure in the distance, his heart felt lighter than he could remember it ever feeling before.

 

* * *

 

Anna wasn’t entirely surprised to see Shion’s mysterious friend peering into the bakery window, scowling at the ‘closed’ sign. She had a feeling she knew why he was here. By the time she had gotten down into the shopfront, though, the dark-haired man had begun walking away.

She called after him from the doorway. “It was Nezumi, wasn’t it?”

The man called Rat turned around, fixing Anna with eyes that betrayed no emotion, not even surprise or recognition. He looked different than he had a few days ago when Shion had brought him by—maybe it was just that his hair was knotted up at the back of his head, highlighting the sharpness of his features, but he looked colder and harder than he had with Shion there. Shion had told her that he had once made a living as an actor, but Anna thought that assassin seemed just as likely.

“You work with Shion at the school, right?” he asked, his voice neutral and polite but his eyes sharp and otherwise unreadable.

Anna nodded. “Are you looking for him?”

“I was wondering if he had been by here today.”

Anna shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since school let out.”

“Then I don’t suppose you would have any idea of where he might be.”

Anna didn’t bother to contain her knowing smile. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Well, thank you anyway. Tell your husband his pie was delicious,” he said, waving his hand as he turned away.

“Hey, Nezumi!”

The man paused and said nothing, only arched a single eyebrow, a trace of amusement on his face.

He really was very unusual looking; but then, she supposed, so was Shion. The story he had told her had been spinning around in her head all afternoon. It was an extraordinary one, for certain. But Anna was also certain that it didn’t deserve to end in the perpetual separation of these two strange men, who at the same time seemed so similar and so different. 

Anna knew that she was an easy person to underestimate. She knew it would come across as the simple meddling of a busybody housewife, and she didn’t mind. It was more than meddling, of course. Anna was curious. She wanted to know what Shion was capable of with Nezumi at his side. Like she had told Shion, Anna had known almost from the moment she met him that the Shion she could see was a constrained version of something larger and brighter. Now, she had finally gotten a glimpse of what Shion really was. Maybe it was a little selfish; but Anna had always been a slave to her own curiosity. She wanted to see it for herself.

And if nothing else, Anna thought—the warm cinnamon smell of the bakery filling her nostrils; the sound of her son’s laughter ringing from upstairs; and the scene she had come home to that day, of her husband asleep on the couch with a sleeping Matty sprawled across his stomach, shining in her mind’s eye—Shion deserved to know something of the happiness she did.

“Don’t let him go.”

Nezumi stared at her for a long moment before his face warmed into a wry smile. “I don’t intend to,” he said, and vanished into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

There was a light wind against Nezumi’s back, and his feet brought him to the river before he had realized it—and sure enough, there was a familiar form sitting on the riverbank, translucent hair aflame with the reddish hues of the setting sun.

“If you’re trying to hide from me, you’re not doing it very well.”

“I know better than to try to hide from you,” Shion replied, the barest hint of a smile in his voice. Nezumi allowed himself a small smile and came to stand at his side.

“Once,” Shion said, without looking at Nezumi, “When those children who lived in the neighborhood came over to read books, I offered them some soup, and you told me I was stupid for doing so. You told me that if I couldn’t afford to feed them all the time, then I shouldn’t try to do it at all—that it would be irresponsible to abandon them halfway. ‘Nothing is harsher than starvation after satiation.’ That was what you said, back then,” he said, a sharpness to his voice that Nezumi now recognized as the precision weapon of a diplomat, all the more deadly for its concealment.

Nezumi remembered it. The way the gas lamp warmed and brightened the small space, the half-starved children, the wide-eyed smiles on their faces as they listened to Shion’s voice—all of it flashed vividly in his mind’s eye. The chance of all of those kids reaching adulthood was small. One or two extra meals wouldn’t change that fact, and they would have to live the rest of their brief lives knowing exactly what they were missing, knowing that such kindness existed and would only rarely be extended to them. It would indeed be irresponsible. Nezumi refused to have it on his conscience.

_This is what you meant when you asked me to be merciful. If I were going to leave, it would be better for me to do it now and never come back. It would be callous for me to come and go, to toy wantonly with your heart and then disappear._

“It’s still true,” Nezumi said. “It is cruel to make promises you cannot keep.”

“I didn’t agree, back then. I thought that if one extra portion meant that those children could live another day, then it was worth it. I didn’t think it was right for a person to know nothing but deprivation their whole life. _‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all_ , _’_ ” he intoned.

“So what do you believe now?”

Shion shrugged. “I think we were both right. I think all kindness matters, even if small and impermanent. But I also agree with you.” His voice lowered. “It is wrong to make promises you are not certain you can keep.”

They fell into silence as a young couple strolled past them, full of lighthearted laughter and smiles. Nezumi waited until they were out of earshot to speak.

“What are you trying to tell me, Shion?”

Shion looked up at Nezumi, smiling with his mouth and not his eyes. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m grateful that you want to stay, but I don’t need you to. It’s enough that you returned to me. It’s more than enough,” he said, quietly.

“It’s more than you were expecting, you mean.”

Shion sighed. “Yes, Nezumi, I had stopped waiting for you. I didn’t know how else to move forward.”

“I don’t fault you for it, you know.”

“And I don’t fault you for staying away as long as you did,” Shion replied evenly.

The river, minutes earlier lit up with fiery hues of orange, red, and gold, had faded into silvery pinks and purples with the sinking of the sun behind the horizon. Nezumi shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling restless.

_You’re not mad at me for staying away so long. But there are consequences to that decision. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?_

“Nezumi?” The heaviness in Shion’s voice surprised him. “What do you want from me?”

_You really don’t understand, after all._

“I’ve been trying to explain it to you, you know.” Nezumi let his voice soften. “I came here because I didn’t have a purpose, once I had freed myself from No. 6. Who I was, who I was supposed to be—I didn’t know any of it anymore. Where all that anger and pain had been was just emptiness. That was the price of my freedom, I think.” He felt a smile beginning to warm his face. “Except that I haven’t felt empty since I’ve returned to you.”

Shion’s face remained impassive but his voice was strained. “I still don’t understand.”

“You showed me this idea, back then, that I had never encountered before. You were the only person who could make me see it, and I’m not leaving you until I make sense of it.”

“What idea?” Shion asked, his expression darkening a shade.

“That other people can be a source of strength, instead of weakness. That shackling yourself to someone can do more than weigh you down.” Nezumi lowered his voice to a whisper. “That there might be a reason to open your heart to another person.”

Shion stared at him, blankly, and then sighed. “I’m not sure that is something I’m qualified to teach,” he said, with an attempt at laughter that rang hollowly in Nezumi’s ears. “If you wanted a lesson in biology—”

“Why?” Nezumi interrupted, frustrated.

“Why what?”

“Why won’t you help me?”

“I want to help you,” Shion said, his expression sinking back into darkness. “But that’s something my younger self knew. I’m not sure I understand it anymore. 

“If you understood it once, you can learn it again.”

Shion laughed, and while this time his laughter was genuine, there was also bitterness at its core. “I’m not sure it works like that.” 

“Then we can figure it out it together,” Nezumi insisted. “Between the two of us, I think we have the requisite intelligence.”

Shion regarded him in doubtful silence, brow creased. “That’s why you want to stay with me,” he said, slowly, as if trying to puzzle out Nezumi’s intentions.

“It’s one reason. I’ve told you the other.”

_I’m drawn to you._

Shion nodded his agreement. “You have.”

“I'm not settling a debt, Shion. I want this. I want to stay with you.”

Shion turned his gaze back to the river, but Nezumi caught the tail end of the sad smile that had come over his face before it was hidden from his view. “Back when I was still living in No. 6… I kept imagining a future where we could be together and be happy. I couldn’t see a path to it, though. I couldn’t find a way to make it happen. I had to forget the dream altogether, because grasping at that future—it was preventing me from moving forward. And then you returned and showed me the same dream again, but the problem of how to make it happen hasn’t changed.” Shion rested his chin on his knees. “I know it can’t be impossible, but I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

“Maybe you’re just not thinking hard enough,” Nezumi said, gently ironic.

Shion sighed. “If there’s a solution, I’ve had a long time to find it,” he said.

“There’s a solution right in front of you. You’re just too stubborn to acknowledge it.”

Shion turned to look up at him, doubt painted across his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m right here, Shion.” He found Shion’s gaze and willed him not to look away. “I will stay with you. You only have to ask.”

Shion frowned. “I just don’t believe that you’d truly be happy tethered to me.”

“Why not?”

Shion’s eyes contained some mixture of frustration and despair. “I’ve told you—I don’t want to tie you down. It’s like trying to keep a songbird in a cage. That’s not where you belong,” he said, shaking his head. “One day, you’ll get restless, and you’ll leave again.”

“You believe that.”

“Nezumi, I _know_ that. I don’t fault you for it. But it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Nezumi’s voice hardened. “I will stay with you if you ask me to.”

“And I’ve told you,” Shion said, in the tenuously patient tone of a teacher who has repeated himself one time too many, “That I can’t ask. You want me to make some sort of commitment by asking you to stay, but I’m not sure that’s quite fair. I wanted to stay with you from the beginning. Don’t you remember? You were the one who walked away.” Shion met Nezumi’s gaze, his voice level and firm. “I won’t make a commitment, and I won’t let you make one, either. Not now, not when we barely know each other.”

“So you want me to leave.”

“Not at all.” Shion shook his head, laughing in a desperate sort of way. “I want you to stay, Nezumi. More than I want anything else.” His gaze did not waver from Nezumi’s eyes. “But I can’t let you shackle yourself to me before knowing what that really entails.”

“I know enough.” Nezumi held Shion’s gaze. “I know that you’ve changed, and I know that I’m drawn to you still.”

Shion sighed, his eyes closed.

“You know I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“I do,” Shion acknowledged, the faintest of smiles on his face. “I’m just asking you to be patient.”

“Are you worried I might change my mind?”

Whatever was left of Shion’s smile vanished and his gaze fell to somewhere around Nezumi’s navel. He shrugged.

“What do you think I’m going to learn that I don’t already know?”

Shion frowned, and Nezumi noticed that it made him look older, that it threw the wrinkles around his eyes and the creases on his forehead into clear relief. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Nezumi. The things I did, the person I became… Everything I still have to atone for.” He rested his chin on his knees. “Asking you to stay would be allowing myself more happiness than I deserve,” he said, softly.

“Shion,” Nezumi said, his voice low, “What is it you have to atone for?”

Shion looked like he might be sick. “For killing someone. For looking on as others were killed. For failing to save people I had the power to save. For every sin I committed in the name of progress.” He swallowed, and spoke like the words hurt. “For turning my back on No. 6.”

“That’s too much, Shion.”

Shion tilted his head, doubtful.

“You can’t let the past keep dragging you down like that.” 

“I can’t let myself forget it, though.” Shion squeezed his knees tightly. “You were right about the nightmares,” he said, his eyes wide and his voice thin, as if the placid river scene before him had been transformed into the basement of the Correctional Facility.

“Shion.”

Nezumi’s voice seemed to wrench Shion back into the present. Shion’s voice wavered and his hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke, but he managed to hold Nezumi’s gaze.

“Nezumi, when you were gone, I found this…” He swallowed as he struggled to find the word. “…This _monster_ , inside me. So deep down that I know it’s who I really am.”

Nezumi remembered seeing glimpses of that thing, that monster, and wondering whether it was Shion’s true nature. But it couldn’t be. Monsters didn’t rebuild cities and heal people and befriend dogs and children and rats. They didn’t give away kindness freely, expecting nothing in return. 

“It is _not_ who you are.”

“That’s what I mean, though. You don’t know that,” Shion protested gently. “You’ve only seen bits and pieces of it.”

“Whatever you did, whatever it was you became—that’s all history, Shion. You have to put it behind you in order to move forward.” His voice darkened. “Believe me. I understand that very well.”

Shion didn’t seem to have heard him. “I can’t let myself forget,” he repeated, tugging on his bangs. “All of those people who suffered in the Correctional Facility, every life that was destroyed by the old No. 6… It mustn't be forgotten.” 

“You can remember without staying stuck in the past. You don’t have to punish yourself forever.” 

“I don’t know how else to fight that monster, though,” Shion whispered. “I know it’s still there, deep down, and it still frightens me.”

“Shion.”

_How do I reach you?_

“You don’t have to fight it alone.” 

Shion found Nezumi’s hand and grasped it with inhuman strength. 

“Is that a promise?” Shion asked, his voice hoarse. His face remained hidden by the shadows of twilight. 

“Yes.” 

Shion’s shoulders shook and silent tears streamed down his face.

Nezumi knelt down at his side, still holding Shion’s hand in his.

“Shion.”

Shion took a deep breath and turned to look at Nezumi. He managed to laugh a little through his tears. “If you’re about to say something about ‘your majesty,’ you can—”

Shion froze as Nezumi lifted Shion’s hand and pressed his lips to it.

“We can help each other, Shion. You have to come to terms with your past, and I have to find a purpose for my future. But we don't have to struggle alone," Nezumi said, quiet and clear. "We can do it together."

The wind blew and the river murmured. The sun had set and no artificial lights illuminated this section of the river, but Shion’s eyes shone brightly through the darkness.

“I can’t be certain that I'll be able to do what you’re asking of me,” he said, his voice low and earnest. 

“This isn’t about certainty. That isn’t the kind of promise I'm making.” Nezumi ran his thumb over the back of Shion’s hand. “I know that there are risks. But I still believe we’re stronger by each other's side.”

There were still tears streaking Shion’s face, but his gaze did not waver. “You want us to promise to stay together so that we can help each other.”

Nezumi nodded, slowly. “Yes.”

A warm, vibrant light came over Shion’s face as he turned his palm over and kissed Nezumi’s hand in the same place Nezumi had kissed his, on the back of his third finger.

“I promise it,” he said softly.

An unfamiliar feeling washed over Nezumi. It was warm, and made his chest and fingertips tingle—but more than that, it made him feel full in a way he had never felt before. The gnawing hunger that had haunted the final years of his travels had finally been sated. He had Shion again; he had everything he would ever need.

Nezumi shifted himself towards Shion, and Shion moved away, shaking his head. 

“No, wait—I just…” Shion let out a manic, teary laugh. “I don’t want to kiss you when I’m crying.”

Nezumi let out a small, relieved 'ha,' and placed his lips on Shion’s forehead instead. Shion leaned against Nezumi’s shoulder. His body was warm and solid and fit together with Nezumi’s like finely crafted puzzle pieces.

“Sometimes…” Nezumi turned his gaze upwards. “Sometimes, when I was traveling, I would look up and think about how you were out there under the same sky. I wondered if you were looking up at it, too.”

Shion was silent for a moment, and then let out a quiet laugh. “Whenever a storm blew through, I used to open my windows, just in case you would appear there.”

“To sweep your off your feet?” Nezumi grinned. “Or with a bullet wound to stitch up?”

“Neither,” Shion said. “As equals.”

Nezumi stood up, grasping Shion’s hand firmly in his own, and Shion pulled himself up to stand beside him.

“As equals,” Nezumi repeated, his eyes locked on Shion’s.

Shion’s eyes shone with a light Nezumi wasn’t sure he could remember seeing there before. Neither of them spoke; neither of them needed to. Nezumi had nothing left to say, and he understood the meaning of the light that brightened Shion’s face. The sun had vanished beyond the horizon by now, but Nezumi’s sun was right here, smiling sweetly at him.

 

* * *

 

They made their way back through the calm and quiet streets of No. 5’s residential district in contented silence. Just inside the door of his apartment, Shion took both of Nezumi’s firm, calloused hands in his own and tried to interpret what was encoded in those stormy eyes and serene smile. An electric shiver ran up his spine.

Nezumi’s lips crashed against Shion’s, in a kiss deeper and more passionate than any they had shared before. Years worth of repressed feeling and memory and thought spilled back against Nezumi’s lips, and Nezumi swallowed it all, only kissed Shion more fiercely in return. Shion found himself being pushed onto the couch, where Nezumi straddled him, slender fingers drifting down to Shion’s waist, pausing above his belt buckle, grazing the bare skin there. Nezumi rocked his hips against Shion’s, and Shion let out a moan before the thinking parts of his brain could stop it.

 _You can’t afford this._  

He smiled against Nezumi’s lips.

_Not yet, anyway._

“Nezumi.” The name came out as more groan than anything else.

“Yes?”

“Wait.”

Nezumi’s body went perfectly still for a moment. He pulled his hands and mouth away from Shion’s skin.

Shion leaned backward, away from Nezumi. “I want to go slowly.”

Nezumi raised a single eyebrow. “We’ve already had sex, Shion.”

“I know.”

For a moment, Nezumi’s expression was unreadable; and then he lifted himself off Shion and sat down on the trunk-turned-coffee table, facing him. “You’re asking me to be patient.”

Shion nodded, feeling worried, not sure what the silver flashing through Nezumi’s gray eyes meant.

“You want us to get to know each other again before we commit to staying together for good.”

Shion nodded again. “I need to be careful, this time,” he apologized. “But I am hopeful,” he added, softly

The flashing disappeared, replaced with a small smile Shion wasn’t sure he had ever seen there before—comforting and sweet, like warmed honey—as Nezumi pressed their palms together. Clear, shining silver eyes locked on Shion’s.

“Is this slow enough?”

Relieved laughter bubbled out of him. “Yes,” he said.

“I suppose it’s only fair, after all,” Nezumi said. “I can be patient.”

Shion leaned forward to pull Nezumi into a close embrace. Nezumi hugged him tightly in return.

“Thank you.”

* * *

 Nezumi came out of the bathroom and paused, looking uncertain. It was a rare expression to catch on his face, but Shion only let himself savor it for a brief moment. 

“Nezumi.” Shion stretched his arms out towards the other man. “Come here.”

Nezumi stared at him for a moment; and then the tension fell out of his shoulders and he slid into the bed next to Shion, letting Shion wrap his arms around him and nestling himself against Shion’s chest, one arm draped over his back.

Shion breathed it in, the smell of Nezumi’s freshly-washed hair, the slow steadiness of his heartbeat, the way his skin seemed to burn in every place it touched Shion’s. He felt full to bursting of thought and wonder and emotion—had so many things he wanted Nezumi to know—was still frightened by what the future held for them—it would wait. He would not sully this quiet, perfect moment with more words than were necessary.

Shion lightly pressed their lips together.

Nezumi smiled.

“Good night.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took so long because it was really hard to write - but also because I started writing a sequel. Some sort of action/adventure in the vein of the original novels. No promises I'll ever get around to posting it, though.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
